Anath
by Mary Ruth Keller
Summary: Scully, exhausted from the X-team's efforts to expose the Consortium, tries to take a long-overdue vacation with Mulder on Santorini. In San Diego, Doctor Sandra Ann Miller finds herself investigating a colleague's death. When Scully is attacked at Akrotiri, then her assailant turns up dead, the agents find that nothing is as it seems, including the stability of their partnership.
1. Durga

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Note to the reader: The stories listed as authored by Mary Ruth Keller are all in a single universe, the Kuxan Sum Cycle. While each is an investigation that stands alone, they should be read in the following order for the plot and character developments to make the most sense.

**The Caroline Lowenberg Trilogy**

_Sins of the Fathers  
__Xibalba  
__Twelfth Night  
_Saytr Play: _Rustic Suite_

**The Dana Scully Trilogy**

Prologue: _Time Out of Joint  
__Passages in Memory  
_Interlude: _Roman de la Pendrell  
__Archaea  
__Zurvan  
_Saytr Play: _Anath_

**The Sandra Ann Miller Trilogy**

_Chermera_

More following...

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_Anath_ by Mary Ruth Keller

Part I - _Durga_

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Fluid Dynamics Lab  
Scripps Institute of Oceanography  
La Jolla, California  
Wednesday, April 29, 1998  
6:21 am

"Help!"

At the faint cry, Doctor Thomas Wilton looked up from the control panel he had been modifying. He had come in early to set up for the experiments he had hoped to begin the following morning, when he and his colleague, Sandra Miller, were free from classes and graduate students. If the changes to the new data acquisition systems he had thought of last night were in place, then so much the better.

"Help! I'm trapped!" The call was louder, more insistent, this time. Yet, there was no direction to the sound, no obvious focus. Nor was there an echo, even, as if it had come from a place enclosed.

Moving away from the laser Doppler anemometers, he stepped past the scope showing the power signal levels he had struggled to bring into balance with each other for a quick check. If he thought about it, he had been wrong initially. It sounded as if the voice now came from inside the test chamber of the wind tunnel itself. But, the laboratory had been built with safe operations as the utmost consideration, since the facility was designed for high-velocity turbulence testing. There were only two doors into the high bay that housed the wind tunnel. One was through the control room off an interior hallway. The other led directly outside, but that had been locked and dead-bolted when he had arrived earlier.

Walking alongside the wind tunnel, Wilton rolled one of the equipment carts out of his way. There were multiple ongoing research projects here, as the clutter along the walls and under the elevated wind tunnel itself showed. He shook his head, remembering repeated admonitions to the graduate students and technicians working here to keep the place neat. In times past, the government had funded their research based on proposals, reports, and papers, but those days were gone. Now potential sponsors, especially from industry and foreign governments, demanded tours on which they wanted to see something that looked like NASA clean-rooms, all shiny-white and sparkling.

But nothing looked like it had been disturbed, so Wilton cupped both hands around his mouth. "Where are you?"

"Here." The source of the reply was as mysterious as before.

Wilton shook his head, a few stray blond hairs falling in his eyes. The voice sounded like it came from inside the measurement section, so he stepped over the cables running from the control room to the backs of the LDA's, then swung under the carefully leveled sensor support tables. He attempted to peer through the windows the lasers were mounted flush against, but all he could see was the nearest in their array of hot-wire anemometers. Darkness swallowed the rest, which were strung out in a widely spaced grid at the central plane of the measurement section.

"Who's there?" He was still confused. Anyone who had climbed inside had done so without touching the delicate sensors, which were prone to failing at the slightest brush of cloth, or the wrong tap of a finger.

"Me!" The answer was ambiguous, if insistent.

"Sandra?" He frowned again. The voice belonged not to his colleague, nor to any of the graduate students working for either of them. "How did you?" He stared in surprise at the access panel for the measurement section. The nine latches that snapped in place to hold the door shut were still engaged, so whoever had climbed inside the tunnel had found another entrance.

"Help!" It sounded to Wilton as if the call now came from the isolation chamber for the blower. Any mechanical means for achieving the near-supersonic wind speeds they required was deafeningly noisy, as he and Sandra had learned in their own time in graduate school. So, they had designed this facility with a separate, temperature controlled room for the blower.

But, the space was poorly lit, so Wilton headed back into the control room for a flashlight. While he was there, he flipped open the breaker box to set the 30 amp breaker for the blower motor to the off position. No need for that to come on accidentally, he reasoned, not with someone inside.

"It's all right!" He stepped into the blower room, then flicked the tight beam around the space. He turned the light on one of the windows, surprised by the patch of light he had seen out of the corner of his eye. One of the window filter panels had been cut through.

Now, he had had enough. Whoever was calling for help had broken into the facility, but for what purpose? _The fraternities wouldn't pull a stunt like this, would they?_ When he told the Dean, there would be hell to pay. Exasperated, he shook his head. "I don't like practical jokes! When I find you..."

"Help! I'm trapped!" The voice was muffled by the acoustic dampening, which meant that whoever was inside the tunnel was now back in the main chamber.

Wilton slammed the blower chamber door behind him. "Where are you now?"

"Here." Now he had a clue, since the prankster was banging on the steel side of the tunnel. The percussive raps came from up by the LDA measurement site.

"I'm coming in! Your fraternity is going to be censured for years for this!" Wilton flipped the latches, then, with the flash in his mouth, crawled in under the probes. He barely noticed the door slamming shut, as the spring-mounts were designed to.

But there was no one inside. He sat back on his heels. This was worse than a fraternity prank. With a grunt of inspiration, he took the light from his mouth, then scanned the interior for a voice-activated tape recorder. The responses, had, after all, been ones that could easily have been pre-set. After crawling down the length of the tunnel to the end, he was out of ideas, and even further out of patience. There was no tell-tale flash off smooth black plastic, just the scattered light off anodized steel.

"Hello?" He strained to hear in the near-darkness.

No response. Then, away in the blower chamber, Wilton heard a sound he knew to be impossible, a grinding whine as the cylinder began rotating. Frozen for a few seconds, he stared at the windows, then began moving toward the door. The measurement section was a mere three feet high, too short to do more than crouch and run. It would be only a few more seconds before gale-force winds howled through the narrow tunnel.

But he was out of time. The blast hit him, sending him rolling back to the outflow vanes to slam against the steel. Here, the channel necked down to much less than a foot. He slid down the wall, then pointed his head into the wind. Keeping himself flat against the floor of the chamber, he slithered back toward the test section door, which had flown flush against the outside of the tunnel the instant the wind hit it. The added deflection of air the opening provided was the only thing that had saved his life when the blower had spun up.

The carefully mounted array of anemometers was vibrating as the air turned behind them. Wilton thought fleetingly about all the hours Sandra had put in to align them exactly. She had also designed the mount for the grid, a turbulence-minimizing wire-mesh frame that extended a scant six inches around the interior of the tunnel. To stand up to attempt to jump out the test section door was certain suicide. If he exposed himself to the full force of the winds in the center of the chamber, he would have been impaled on the outflow vanes, or battered against the wall again. His only hope for survival was to huddle, as flat as he could make himself, behind that narrow windbreak the grid frame provided. He was grateful for all those extra bolts Sandra had insisted they use.

Now, he just had to stay awake and motionless until someone, anyone, walking by the facility heard the blower on.

-o-0-o-

Sandra Ann Miller Residence  
142 Curie Avenue, University City  
San Diego, California  
Wednesday, April 29, 1998  
6:47 am

"Salazar!"

A tall woman with long wavy chestnut hair stood on a weathered back porch, staring out into a thicket of herbs. As slim and as loose-limbed as she was, she would have seemed lanky, had she been a man. But it was a thinness that came from lack of attention to regular meals, not the manicured svelte of a model.

"Salazar!" She was more insistent this time. Her canvas pants and polo shirt hung oddly on her frame, too big on the hips, arms, and chest, yet tight across the thighs and shoulders. The early morning fog was lifting, the sun illuminating a tanned and freckled face and arms. Finally, she pressed her fists into her hips as she threw her shoulders back. "Alonso de Salazar Frias, get in this house this instant. I have to get to class."

His marmalade coat dark against the light, a round cat's head poked above a patch of silver thyme. He flicked an ear, the one with a little notch at the end, then sat up. After blinking in the sun, he raised a paw to his face to begin lick it intently. He had not, he knew, much freedom left.

The woman stepped off the cedar, her arms moving in a carefree swing. She loved this place, her high-walled private garden, the fragrance of rosemary and basil heavy in the moist early morning air. "How will it look if the professor is late because of her cat?"

Salazar decided to meet the woman halfway, so rose to begin ambling up the stone path. While the woman approaching him was all angles and corners, he was round little circles, one around his muzzle, another enclosing his face from his chin to under his ears. Even his chest was round. He tossed his paws out to the side in prancing steps as he strolled. After three four-footed strides, he felt an itch coming on, so decided walking all that way was too much trouble, especially as he knew he would end up being carried anyway. He plopped his rump on the flagstones, raised his left leg, cocked his head, then set red fur flying in a cloud around his ears.

The woman bent over him, her long hair falling around him like a curtain. "Salazar, we don't have time for this."

"Urr." The feline blinked innocently.

She scooped him into her arms, then smiled as the tabby tucked his head under her chin. "You're mommy's old sweetheart, you know that." She scratched behind his ears with cracked fingernails that had a line of dirt along the cuticles.

Salazar did, indeed, know that. He also knew that, for his efforts, a few of those crunchy snacks they both pretended were good for his teeth would be left on the table for him. Securely tucked in the crook of her arm, he kneaded her shoulder as she walked along.

Once inside, Salazar hopped onto the trestle table, where the expected fish-shaped treats cascaded onto the pine. He set about crunching noisily.

The woman caught her hair in one hand, then pulled a cloth-covered rubber band around it. "I should be back around four this afternoon, Alonso. I won't have time for any set-up in the wind tunnel today. I have that silly reception tonight."

"Urr." The snacks consumed, the ginger tabby set about washing again, while she adjusted a bike helmet over the thick curls.

As she strapped on a backpack, she kissed the top of his head. "Love you, you old grump."

After flopping on his side, Salazar propped himself up on one paw to attack a cowlick of fur on his stomach. He appeared oblivious to the woman as she stepped through the door, then locked it behind her, but for the right ear that swiveled to track the click of the key turning in the latch.

-o-0-o-

Mayer Hall 4132  
University of California at San Diego  
San Diego, California  
Wednesday, April 29, 1998  
8:24 am

The woman shook the keys for her office door free of the tight side pocket in her cycling shorts. She slid the largest into a dead-bolt lock to open the chamber, then the smallest into the combination lock on the metal box mounted under her name-plate. She held her cycling helmet under the flap as papers tumbled out. They were the next to last homework assignment in this semester for her Introductory class. Her eyes passed over the nameplate above the box that pronounced this the professional residence of Sandra Ann Miller. The initials jumped out at her. She found herself scrawling them across papers frequently without being certain why.

After resting her touring bike in its stand to the side of her office, she pulled out her chair. There was a yellow post-it note stuck to the seat, with a message in painfully tiny, yet penman-perfect letters: 'Setting-up. Tom.' She smiled without being aware of the expression. The first time she had met Tom she had teased him that he would blind himself by writing like that. He had grunted about saving paper, then asked her about Bernoulli flow over sea mounts. Those were simple days, back before her parents' deaths, before endless nights together in the lab, before other complications she had worked for several years to put behind her.

She checked her watch to realize that despite her protests to Salazar, she had more than enough time to catch the shuttle for a quick check in down at the wind tunnel. But that would be after she had changed out of her cycling clothes into something slightly more presentable for teaching.

-o-0-o-

Lowenberg Residence  
Atlantis, Athinios City  
Santorini, Greece  
Friday, May 1, 1998  
10:17 am

Caroline winced at the quiet click of the door latch as she entered the darkened bedroom. But the long figure sprawled under the covers remained still, so she settled on the cushions of the narrow sofa by the entrance to wait and watch.

"Is it really her, Fox?" Part of her was reluctant to wake the sleeping man.

The question from long ago cast her mind back to a time when their positions had been reversed, she the one tucked under the covers, he the one standing in the light at the foot of the bed. But this time, there was no doubt. The woman who called herself Sandra Ann Miller was definitely her long-lost child, the one taken to silence her ages-dead husband. The thought of all their broken family had endured since then had her padding to the bed, bending over to caress the soft brown hair of the man motionless on it.

The white-haired woman jumped back when a hand shot out from under the pillow to clutch her wrist. "Fox, it's all right. It's just your mother. Sleep, please."

A slight loosening of the grip, then a soft plea. "Mom? Are you there?"

She felt something long hidden within her collapse to microscopic fragments. "Of course I am, dear." Without freeing herself, she settled as close to him as she dared, then resumed stroking his hair.

Blinking, Mulder reached for the bedside lamp. "Mom?" He released her long enough to slide back against the pillows before extending his arms to her. "How long have I been sleeping?"

Caroline moved into his embrace gladly, rubbing his back. "Not long enough." She smiled against his shoulder when she felt one hand travel up her spine to touch the chin pressed against her neck. "Since early yesterday afternoon." She slid free, then held the prickly cheek herself. "You have your father's beard, you know."

Mulder frowned. "What? Dad couldn't grow one either?"

She reached over his head to raise the blinds, setting them both blinking. "Absolutely not at all. After he left the State Department, he tried." They both blanched at the lie. "But it was always patchy. Did you try growing one at Oxford?" She bit her lip, afraid the question would remind them both of the distance between them.

But her son simply chuckled as he shook his head. "Last year when we were undercover as homeless, I had to." He broke into a full lop-sided grin. "I thought Director Skinner was going to hold me down and shave it off himself, once."

Caroline busied herself with casting the room into full light. "Oh." When she heard no creaking of the mattress springs behind her, she checked over her shoulder.

The bare-chested agent was still rigidly upright. He had pressed the covers tightly against his waist while regarding her with a slight flush above pinched lips.

She smiled as she turned away from him. "Fox, I changed your diapers. You have nothing I'd see that I wasn't involved in making. So, go."

Her son's fidget set the cotton rustling. "Mo-om."

Caroline moved to stand by the door. "All right, dear, I'll leave."

Mulder was across the room and had his hand on the bathroom wall when he turned back to her. "How's Scully?"

Caroline sighed. "She was up and around an hour or so ago. She said she wanted to try swimming, but Max needed to change the filters first. I expect you'll find her out by the pool helping." She rubbed the edge of the stained door. "You should both rest before you go back to the States, especially Dana."

His state of relative undress apparently forgotten, Mulder crossed the room to grasp her elbow. "Why? What's wrong with Scully, Mom?"

Gazing up into darkening hazel eyes, Caroline shook her head. "Nothing, just fatigue." She closed the door again. "Fox, when we would return from undercover missions in Germany, we would do exactly what you and Dana are doing right now, sleep for a week, if possible. After what both of you have been through and what lies ahead, you need to take the time now, while you can. Don't overextend yourselves, the way Dana did while you were with us."

Mulder straightened. "Okay. It's *what* time?"

Caroline swept the door aside to check the hall clock. "Almost ten thirty."

Mulder chewed his lower lip as he thought. "Then it's, um, after midnight in San Diego. When it's morning there, I'll call Nichols."

She closed the door again. "This is one of the agents who used to work with you?"

"Yeah. He's an ASAC now. He can put a couple of agents out to follow Sam." He scratched his chin. "That should keep anything from happening to her while we're here." He moved back to the window closest to the pool, watching his partner drop her terry cloth robe onto a glass-topped table. He closed his eyes, rather than stare at the patch of white gauze on the short waist the black one-piece revealed. "She's too thin, Mom." He looked around for his white-haired stepfather, who was settling into one of the lounge chairs under an umbrella. "Will Max stay with her?"

Sighing at the clenched fist she saw under a crooked elbow, Caroline rested one hand on her son's back. "Of course. Why do you think the pool filters needed changing in the first place?" She smiled gently when a long limb swept over her shoulders.

Mulder rubbed his Mother's arm. "Okay. I'll be out in a few minutes."

Walking side by side to the door, Caroline found she could not refrain from throwing back a tease. "When I said I was in on the making of everything I might see, that didn't mean I was a silkworm, you know." She looked up, her eyes twinkling.

Mulder dropped his arm, calling back as he crossed the room, "Mo-om!"

Two clicks terminated the conversation.

-o-0-o-

Fluid Dynamics Lab  
Scripps Institute of Oceanography  
La Jolla, California  
Wednesday, April 29, 1998  
8:51 am

Hearing the noise from down the hall, Sandra frowned. Unless Anwar had managed to take down the hot films, then set up the particle generators and cameras, there wouldn't be any flow experiments today. Back in graduate school, when she and Tom had used cigarettes to produce particles, she had hated the stench. So had Tom, but her hate had been almost visceral. Now, charcoal was the source material of choice, even though it cost more to buy the uniform-burn pellets, and the particles were slightly larger. Besides, the smell always made her hungry.

Stepping into the control room, Sandra very nearly collided with the open door of the breaker box. She blinked in surprise at the dropped lever of the 30 amp breaker, switched it to on, then to off again. The vibrations in the control room dropped in pitch, then she heard the slow rumble of the blower cylinder rotating to a halt. One glance into the high bay of the wind tunnel set her gasping. The test chamber door was flapping on its hinges, the LDA dangled crazily off its leveling table, and there were cables flung up against the window.

"Help!"

Sandra opened the inner door of the control room. "Who's there?" She raised her voice to be heard over the dying whines.

"Help me! I'm in the tunnel!"

She ran to the test chamber to latch the square access door open. "Tom, is that you?"

That thinning blond hair was twisted into knots and swirls, and his pale blue eyes were dilated. "Help me!" He flung himself at the opening, knocking her backwards onto the concrete. He slithered through the door to collapse, shuddering, beside her, two lean shapes twisted among the wreckage. "I was trapped!"

She rolled him onto his back, then pressed his reddened cheeks between her palms. "Tom? Tell me what happened to you."

"Sandie?" He grabbed her shoulders. "Sandie, talk to me! Don't whisper!" He struggled to sit up.

She kicked power cables out of the way, then helped him to his feet and back into the control room. Kneeling before him, she held his face again. "Can you hear me now?"

He shrugged. "Who turned the blower on?" He was shouting without thinking. "I was inside and someone..." He fell silent as she dug into the blue recycling bin for a blank sheet of paper.

"The breaker was set to off when I arrived," she scribbled.

"I did that!"

"You've been deafened," she added below the first line.

"From the noise." It was his first comment in a normal tone of voice.

She pulled out a second sheet. "I'm calling maintenance," she wrote. After a moment's hesitation, she added, "and Judy."

Tom shook his head vehemently. "No! She's at that conference in L.A. This may be temporary. We don't know!" He was back to shouting again.

"I hope so." Sandra reached for the phone. The short call finished, she rose.

Tom grabbed her arm. "Where are you going?"

Sandra patted his shoulder, hoping to banish the fear she saw in his eyes. "Just to alert your secretary. I'll have to be here for this. Both our classes will have to be postponed until this gets worked out," she scrawled.

He nodded reluctantly, then watched her go.

-o-0-o-

Her hand on Tom's shoulder as he hunched forward to rub his ears, Sandra waited in the near-darkness for the department's head janitor to reset the main breaker for the wind tunnel. "Thanks for stopping by on such short notice, Andy."

"No problem, Doctor Miller." His response was offered softly. "It was on my way in from my apartment, you know." He stuck his tongue out slightly as he checked the power cables coming into the box. "Well, I can't find any connection problems." The man in grey overalls slammed the flat metal door shut. "Are you sure this is the only power panel for the blower?"

Sandra nodded. "You remember when Tom and I designed this facility, don't you? You even made helpful suggestions over the blueprints, as I recall."

He flipped the main breaker, then waited for their eyes to adjust to the light. "Yes, Ma'am." He shrugged. "I had the overnight shift at the shelter, so I guess I forgot." He studied his feet sheepishly.

"That's all right." She tried smiling gently at him. "We all forget things from time to time."

He smiled back. "I'll log it." He waved at the window. "Looks like you guys have a mess in there."

"Yes, we do. And, thanks." After they were alone, Sandra turned to her colleague, who was rubbing his eyes with both hands. "Can you hear anything?" At his non-response, she tapped his shoulder.

He grunted. "They hurt." Half his face twisted into an apologetic smile. "Sorry for shouting at you."

"I think it's time we ran you to the hospital," she wrote.

With a sigh, he rose. "Lay on, MacDuff."

-o-0-o-

University Hospital  
San Diego, California  
Wednesday, April 29, 1998  
10:51 am

"Miss Miller?"

Sandra rose. "Yes?"

The physician waved her into the examining room, where an anxious Tom waited.

After she was seated, Doctor Adkins bent over her. "There's no real damage to the eardrums. Not surprisingly, Doctor Wilton is dehydrated and he'll have some discomfort from the bruises on his back. I've given him a vitamin injection to speed his recovery."

Wilton looked from one to the other in confusion, so Sandra scribbled the diagnosis out for him as the doctor waited to finish his recommendations.

"I suggest your friend rest and give it a day or two. If he doesn't begin to get his hearing back, then contact me." Adkins handed two bottles to her. "Here's the eye medication he's been asking for. It's no stronger than what he would get off the shelf. He can take some Ibuprofen for the contusions."

Sandra nodded, wrote out what the internist had recommended, then took her colleague by the arm.

-o-0-o-

Wilton Residence  
53 Via Don Benito, La Jolla  
San Diego, California  
Wednesday, April 29, 1998  
11:43 am

Sandra slipped the cab driver an extra twenty, then, with her hand on Tom's back, guided him up the walkway. She checked behind her to reassure herself the Mexican had understood that he needed to remain.

Once at the house, Wilton unlocked his front door. "You've done more than you need to do, Sandie. You don't need to stay."

She hurried to his study, where she knew she could find loose sheets of paper. Once seated at his desk, she wrote out, "What's the conference hotel's number again?" She looked back over her shoulder, expecting to have to carry the note to him.

But he had been standing behind her, watching her. "No. She's giving her paper in the 'Universality of Myth' session. She's worked for months on it, and this can wait."

Sandra narrowed her hazel eyes at his reluctance, before she wrote, "I thought it was in the morning." She underlined 'morning' three times. "We can have her paged at the end of the session." Her jaw set as she scrawled out, "If it were my husband, I'd want to know, paper or no." A cold shadow, a distant, hastily cut-off memory, hovered between them.

He crossed his arms. "No. I'll be fine here. Judy would..." He shook his head. "Judy will be back tonight."

She crumpled up the top sheet to toss it to the floor. "You're deaf." She added three exclamation marks. "You won't be able to hear the phone, or the door."

He locked his fingers under her arm. "I'll be fine. I can grade papers until she returns."

Standing, she shook her head.

Wilton pointed at the door. "Go, Sandie, please. This has taken up enough of your day already."

She frowned, but headed for the front entrance and the waiting cab.

"Sandie?"

She stopped in the doorway to turn back. Her head was down, her long hair obscuring her face.

He had been behind her. "Thanks for taking care of me."

Silently, she hugged him, then stepped away. She wanted to check the wind tunnel out again herself, now that Tom was safe. Besides, she knew Judy Wilton's departmental secretary, so she would be informed, regardless of Tom's inexplicable reluctance.

-o-0-o-

Lowenberg Residence  
Atlantis, Athinios City  
Santorini, Greece  
Saturday, May 2, 1998  
3:23 pm

"No." The light, aimed now at Scully's left eye, clicked on again. "No." She shook her head. "This really wasn't necessary, Doctor."

The heavy-set physician smiled. "Just doing a favor for an old friend." His eyes flicked momentarily towards Max. "Now, lean forward." He manipulated the back of her skull. "Without an MRI, I can't see if there's been further damage, Dana."

"We can head to Athens this afternoon, if you think that would be wise." Mulder's tenor was at its roughest.

"No." The response from both doctor and patient was simultaneous.

Doctor Philipatos shook his head. "Until and unless there are further symptoms, dizziness, nausea, or disorientation, rest is all that's needed. Once you return to the mainland, I suggest you have one before you spend a day on a plane reaching the States, just to check your status."

Mulder snorted.

The grey-haired physician took Scully firmly by the arm. "But I do mean for you to rest. Seriously." He gripped her chin to check her eyes again. "If I understand everything your partner told me, you've been in the air three times since the head injury, through a plane crash, and a high-speed elevator ride that induced unconsciousness in the pair of you, is that correct?"

Scully glared up at her partner. "Mulder, you didn't!"

He patted her shoulder. "You'll be surprised to learn that sometimes those lectures of yours sink in, Scully, especially the ones about secondary re-injury after a head trauma." He bent over her. "My personal physician was particularly explicit about *those* details."

Max and Caroline exchanged a smile.

Philipatos touched Scully's wrist to claim her attention. "No more trips to Africa, no more adventures for a few weeks. You, as a doctor, know how long these things take to heal, Dana, I don't have to tell you."

She sighed. "I know. I'd just been through so much with no real problems I had hoped I'd just assumed the worst."

The grey-haired physician reached into the black bag by his feet. "Of course. While I'm here, I'd like to take a look at those stitches. You should be past ready to have them out by now."

Max took Mulder firmly by the arm. "I think they can take it from here, don't you?"

After a moment's resistance, the agent left with his stepfather.

Once they were in the living room, Max stopped his stepson by grasping his back momentarily. "If you two do decide to leave, there are arrangements which can be made, even at this late hour." His hazel eyes focused on the bedroom door down the hall. "She's a pistol, I have to give her that. I'm amazed you two didn't kill each other in the first years of your partnership, Mulder."

The dark-haired agent chuckled. "Who's to say we almost didn't?" He took a step toward the hall, then turned back. "If Philipatos thinks she's healed, she'll want to head home."

A nod. "If that's what she says, I'll start making some calls. We're very close to one of the cruise ports." He grasped his step-son's shoulder. "I may be an over-cautious old man, and I know you two are perfectly aware of your own limitations - "

"No, that's okay." Mulder edged closer to him. "You *really* think she needs to rest, still?"

Max's hazel eyes grew dark. "I think you both need to take more time."

The agent closed his own briefly. "I know. This is more than just trying to push me to go to San Diego. Whatever started while we were apart, it, it isn't over yet, despite our taking the time on the mainland." He dropped his gaze to his toes. "I just..." He sighed. "I just don't want to put you and Mom out, Max."

The hand slid around his torso for a quick hug, then fell away. "That was never the issue, Mulder." The white-haired man checked the physician's face as he emerged. "I don't think we'll be needing to worry about hustling you two out of here tonight. But, we'll find out now."

-o-0-o-

Sandra Ann Miller Residence  
142 Curie Avenue, University City  
San Diego, California  
Wednesday, April 29, 1998  
5:27 pm

Salazar squeezed his bulk onto the window sill. The woman was past due, he could tell from the lengthening shadows. In his younger days, he would have traced out an impatient dance on the tiles, but now, he just planted himself where he could stare down the road in the direction she came from every night. Cocking his ears, he thought he caught the clicking of her bike chain. She was coming up the street, her head down, her legs pumping.

Once at the house, Sandra, her Specialized now swinging as the top tube balanced on her shoulder, smiled at the round head behind the glass. She blew the cat a quick little kiss, then unlocked the front door. "You'll never believe what happened to me today, Alonso."

His tail aimed high and perfectly straight, Salazar led the woman into the kitchen, where he stared pointedly at his empty dish.

Sandra smiled as she scooped Fancy Feast onto a clean plate. "Tom was trapped inside the wind tunnel, Salazar. Can you believe that?"

The cat simply blinked at her as he thumped his tail on his place mat. He knew, since this is the way things always were, that when he had finished his meal, she would be waiting for him on the sofa. That was the way life had always been, the way it always should be. He licked the last crumb off the plate, cleaned his whiskers, then sauntered into the living room. Yes, just as things ought to be, there she was. He hopped onto the cushions, then settled in her lap, purring and blinking as she scratched his head and talked.

"I didn't have to teach at all today. Tom told me that someone had forced an entry into the blower chamber, and I had two of the graduate students help me replace the filters and the screens. Who would have done this, do you know?" She bent around to look him in the eye. "After all, you are an Inquisitor, you old lump."

At the buzz of the phone, Salazar found himself deposited lovingly on the cushions. He wrapped his tail around his paws to settle in for a nap, with his sensitive ears cocked to hear the words from the phone.

"Miller residence."

"Sandie, do you have any idea what's happened?"

Sandra frowned. "Judy? What's wrong?"

"He's dead!"

"Dead? I'll be right there."

-o-0-o-

Northern Division  
San Diego Police Department  
San Diego, California  
Wednesday, April 29, 1998  
6:49 pm

Detective Jerry Donato shoved the folder on the still-open Richardson homicide out of his vision. He rubbed the back of his neck idly, then smoothed down his curly black hair. The pieces were all there, he could tell, but no matter how many lists he made, he still couldn't see the pattern that brought them altogether. No pattern, no theory. He needed someone to bounce this off of, someone other than the officer he hoped was only a temporary partner.

He looked up when a stocky, balding man burst through double glass doors into the squad room. "J****, another f***ing egghead bites the dust. Better get the troops out in force." The new arrival's sarcastic snarl lingered on his face as he advanced on Jerry. "You ready to roll, College Boy? This is one of yours."

Donato thought, once again, how much he loathed this man who had been assigned to him. Michael Evans had worked his way up from patrolman on a beat to Senior Detective after twenty years on the force. Donato, on the other hand, had been promoted to the position a mere twenty-two months after having graduated from San Diego State's Criminal Justice Administration program. It hadn't been exactly the career in Law he had intended, but, given his family's limited means, a Juris Doctor was out of the question. The work had been reasonably interesting, until now, that was.

After draining the last of his coffee from a green and white paper cup, Donato tossed it in the trash, then headed for the garage without reply. Once they had rolled into traffic, he found he could summon no enthusiasm, but felt he had to ask. "So, which egghead is this?"

Evans snorted. "Some f***ing per-fesser at the University. Found dead in his f***ing perfect egghead house by his f***ing perfect egghead per-fesser wife. Who cares? Just that the pencil-heads'll be all over this one like flies. Let a workingman bite the dust, and we're lucky to see it in print. So, brush up your perfect English and polish those pearly whites, College Boy. Looks like you'll get to add another feather to your perfect f***ing white hat."

Donato endured another of what he knew Evans considered playful punches on the arm. It was supposed to make all the insults into a joke. Rubbing the bridge of his nose, he stared out the window of the Ford as he sighed. It was going to be a long night.

-o-0-o-

Lowenberg Residence  
Atlantis, Athinios City  
Santorini, Greece  
Saturday, May 2, 1998  
3:46 pm

As Scully stood, twisting her T-shirt into a knot, Caroline rested a hand on her shoulder. "Let me steady you, Dana." The three were silent through the snips of surgical scissors, the physician deftly flicking the sutures free.

After applying more gauze and tape, the doctor sighed. "Keep it covered for a few more days, a week at most, just until your clothes stop irritating it. You've already taken care of your head, I can see."

Scully smoothed the cotton back down. "Yes, this morning." She extended her hand. "Thank you."

Caroline pointed toward the closed door. "Well, we'd better step out, or Fox will be in after us."

A quick wave, then Philipatos was speaking with Max, Mulder hovering with questions at his side.

Caroline tugged Scully back into the bedroom.

The auburn-haired pathologist glanced at her feet before meeting the white-haired woman's gaze. "Thank you. I didn't mean to put you out like this, Caroline."

The older woman gripped her wrist. "Dana, a word of advice."

Scully opened her mouth, then closed it at the stern expression she saw on the lined face.

Caroline freed her guest to close the door. "Stop this."

One auburn brow arched. "Stop?"

Caroline advanced on her. "I appreciate everything you've done to help find my daughter, more than I can express. I am also deeply grateful for all you have done for Fox." She glared fiercely at the younger woman. "But don't assume you're something you aren't, or you'll destroy everything you've worked so hard to build up." She gripped the top of the chair Scully had so recently occupied. "I speak with the voice of experience."

The agent pressed her back against the wall. "What do you mean? I've never assumed..." Her eyes widening, she shook her head. "Caroline, there's nothing between - "

The older woman rolled her eyes. "No, Dana, that's the *last* thing I mean. I mean, stop assuming you're invincible. You aren't. You need to learn to open up to other people, just as you encourage them to depend on you." Caroline sank into the chair. "My life would have been far different if I had learned that lesson forty years ago."

Scully blinked rapidly, then rotated her stiffening shoulders. "Oh. How bad was it for Mulder while I was in the Courthouse?"

A hard glare. "There you go again, worrying about him, rather than yourself. What did being in that explosion do to *you*, Dana?"

Considering the question, she sank to the floor. "I didn't have time to think, Caroline. My life, Jarred's life, *all* our lives were in danger." The pathologist clenched her fists. "I did what I had to. That's all." She looked over at the white-haired woman. "I don't know what you want me to say. I'm not the type who handles everything with tears and emotional outbursts."

Caroline leaned forward. "I never was either. But that's what I became because I wouldn't stand up for myself. Don't you make the same mistake, Dana."

Scully tucked her hair behind her ear. "I have every confidence that when the time is right, Mulder and I will talk, just as we have in the past." She shrugged. "As far as my family goes, well, that will be harder." She sighed. "Much harder. I - "

Both turned as the door swung open.

Mulder looked from the woman on the chair to the one in the corner, his gaze finally settling on his Mother. "Mom? You okay?"

Caroline nodded. "Of course, Fox. Dana and I were just talking." She tipped her chin up.

Waiting for softening words, Mulder cocked his head, then, when none emerged, closed the door. "Oh?"

Scully pushed herself to her feet. "Caroline was worried about me." After a glance at the white-haired woman, she stepped towards her partner. "She wanted to offer me some advice." Her green-blue eyes all but screamed, 'Later, later.'

But he plunged forward, the hazel hard and grey as flint. "She thinks you should stop trying to kill yourself."

The white-haired woman found her feet as well. "And she thinks her son and her son's partner have some talking to do on their own. Whenever you two feel like lunch, Phillipa will have it waiting." The door clicked behind her.

Mulder rounded on the pathologist, using his height and their closeness to claim her full attention. "Don't shut down on me, Scully. I thought we were stronger than that." He gripped her arms. "I thought there was more between us than that. You owe me, you owe *yourself* more than an 'I'm fine' at every turn."

She glared back fiercely. "What do you want me to say? I'm sorry, partner, I can't keep up with you, your legs are too long; you're too strong; you're too fast; I don't think like you do?" She pulled herself free. "There. I've said it. Satisfied now?"

He slid between her and the wall, stopping her from turning away with a grip of her right wrist. "No. That isn't you. That's not what I want you to say. That's not what you *need* to say. Dana Scully isn't a quitter and she's a miserable liar. Don't you think I know that by now?"

She blinked at him. "Then what do you want from me?"

He grasped her left arm as well. "All I've ever wanted from you. The truth." He rubbed her elbows gently. "Tell me the truth."

Her jaw set. "You won't like it."

Taking a deep breath, he released her to begin prowling the room. After completing several circuits in an uneasy silence, he stopped a few feet in front of her to comment in a soft voice, "The truth is never easy."

She studied his face for a moment. "We were over all this in Athens. There's no need to go through it again."

He set his hands on his hips to keep from fidgeting. "If we were over all this, we wouldn't be where we are right now. Scully, I can't relate to what your family went through, having to move from state to state every year or two. I know it helped make you self-sufficient and reserved. In a way, I envy you, being able to leave a set of problems behind you when you moved."

Taking the opening he appeared to be offering, she took a step towards him. "I can't tell you how happy I am for you, now that you've found Samantha, that you know she's alive and well. You, of all people, deserve a little joy in your life, Mulder."

He held out his hand, his face broadcasting his relief when she reached out to take it. "And I can't tell you how grateful I am for all your help in this, in putting the past behind me." He slid his arm up to grasp her elbow. "I know that moving as often as you did growing up, making all those sacrifices like you did, shaped you to be self-contained and independent. I *do* envy you in that." His gaze dropped to the floor guiltily.

She shifted forward until she was almost under his nose. "Mulder. This is a chance to make a new life for yourself."

He raised his eyes to meet hers. "That's what you did every two years, wasn't it? You got to leave your problems behind, to make a fresh start. No one knew who you were, no one knew what your past had been, so you were free to remake yourself into whatever you wanted."

She shook her head. "It wasn't that simple." Turning away from him, she crossed her arms as she leaned against the window frame. "It was like there were these identical island cultures wherever we went. It didn't matter if it was Maine or South Carolina, the Navy stayed the same. We were still called on to make endless compromises, endless sacrifices, for the good of our country."

"Oh." He had taken a spot behind her. "That's the problem, isn't it?"

She pressed her back against the wall. "The problem?"

His eyes glowing down at her, he nodded. "You think if you keep making sacrifices, keep toiling to hide who you are away, then you'll be rewarded in the end."

She narrowed her eyes at him, but said nothing.

He bent over her. "Scully, this isn't the Navy. I'm not your father, or your brothers, or your husband. I don't want you to hide who you are, to subsume your needs and wants into my mission. I'm your partner, and, I should hope, your friend." He grasped her elbow. "I can't tell you how much I enjoy watching when you charge off to prove me wrong, when you use those wits of yours to attack a problem. I'm not threatened or diminished by it; it invigorates me. It improves what we do together. Our work. Yours and mine."

She strode to the center of the room. "But, Mulder, you're a man. How can you not feel uncomfortable when a woman challenges everything you believe in?"

He shook his head. "I'm not like that. You're not like that. That's not who we are." He crossed the space between them. "I wish you could stop feeling you have to do that. Stop hiding when you're hurting. I can see you fold in on yourself when you do." He brushed her back with his fingertips. "You told me, last year, in Fordyce, that you want me to be as whole as my past would let me be. I want the same thing for you, Scully."

She turned to look up into sparkling green eyes. "Then here it is, Mulder." She crossed her arms. "I'm tired. My head hurts and my back aches and I'd like to sleep for a week. It's been forever since the explosion at the Courthouse, though. I shouldn't feel this tired."

A shudder ran through him, but he nodded calmly. "After what you've been through, you ought to feel like that. There's nothing to be ashamed of in being human. Go on."

As she crossed to take a seat, she sighed. "Maybe it's the fatigue, I don't know, but I can't formulate a plan for our next course of action." She dropped her head onto the back of the chair. "That scares me. With all the dragons waiting for us, I don't know how to proceed. We need to have plans worked out, ringed around with options, given that the Old Smoker is alive and scheming." She straightened. "Do we go directly to San Diego so you can see your sister? Do we try to work out what's happening with the Consortium back in the States? Do we move the D'Amato papers, the copies of the X-Files, and all the evidence we've built up to a new, more secret location?" She shook her head. "I feel like, like, a steel ball, poised on the crest of a volcano. Push myself one way, and it's all downhill to disaster." She looked up at her partner, who was now standing directly in front of her. "Is this making any sense at all?"

Settling on the black stones at her feet, he gazed up at her. "Not yet. But it will." He reached for her wrist. "You, more than anyone I've known, hate being out of control of your own life." He smiled gently at her snort of agreement. "But maybe that's what you need to do, just for a little while. Let someone else watch over you. Then we'll make plans, you and I." He rubbed her wrist with his thumb. "Together." He released her arm. "All right?"

She sighed. "So, you take the burden on? Along with all those others?"

He laughed softly, once. "Try me. If you get too heavy, I'll throw you off, like a recalcitrant miner's mule would." He tapped her under the chin, then dropped his hand away. "Who couldn't understand why that yellow ore weighed so much." Turning his back to her, he coughed once.

Scully grasped his shoulder. "Then for my first ride, I think I'd like some of that lunch, partner."

-o-0-o-

Wilton Residence  
53 Via Don Benito, La Jolla  
San Diego, California  
Wednesday, April 29, 1998  
7:23 pm

Jerry pointed to the stone ranch. "That's it."

Evans snorted. "I should'a f***ing guessed. One of those retro fifties jobs you brains prefer."

Almost before the car had rolled to a stop, Donato was out the door.

Evans turned off the engine. "Hey, Bill Gates, wait up. The corporate takeover won't start without you."

Donato paused, resting his hip against the front fender through the inevitable click, snick, click, of his partner's lighter. "I guess we'll do this as usual. You see what the uniforms have, and I'll interview the family." He felt no desire to look over at his partner.

Evans sent out curls of grey smoke with his snort. "Yeah, College Boy, I'll do the real police work, you make nice with the grievin' widow." After a few quick puffs, Evans dropped the cigarette on the concrete. "See, I'm not even gonna contaminate the crime scene."

Jerry took two steps forward, then froze in his tracks. Standing with her back to him was a woman, her tall frame looking undernourished, which he passed over without notice. To see angles and bones on a female body was utterly unremarkable, marking her as just another actress making her way through to Los Angeles, whether to find fame or ruin was not his concern. But, what gave him pause were the long chestnut curls flowing down her back. Maria would, on rare occasions, go out on stake-outs with her hair down, and he would admire it from the safety of the driver's seat as she slept.

A slap burned his shoulder. "J****, where did you go just now?" Evans' double chin and grey five-o-clock shadow broke into his reminisce.

With a sigh, Donato dug for his badge. "Nowhere." He stepped up behind the woman, then, after introducing himself, began the investigation quietly. "I was looking for Mrs. Wilton."

The woman turned to extend her hand. "Professor Sandra Ann Miller, PhD. I'm a colleague of the deceased and a friend of the family. Let me show you to Judy."

Donato followed her inside. Even the way this woman moved, gawky yet self-assured, reminded him of Maria. She stopped in front of a petite blonde. He watched the waves cascade around her shoulders as she bent to cover the hands of the seated woman.

As he listened, her gentle alto, with its hypnotic timbre, soothed the woman in front of her. He mentally shook himself into awareness just as she offered her concluding statement. "This is one of the detectives sent here to investigate what happened to Tom."

Donato began to open his notebook, but, one careful glance at the stunned woman's face told him not to bother. "Ma'am, there are some questions I'd like to ask, but if you need a few moments, I have the time."

Judy Wilton shook her head. "No, I want you to find who did this to Tom." She canted her eyes toward the brunette. "Sandra called me about the accident - "

"Accident?" Donato looked over.

The tall woman nodded. "Yes, Tom and I were running a series of experiments in our wind tunnel. He had gone in before classes to work on the set-up. I went up before my classes to check in with him, to find he had been trapped in the wind chamber itself. Someone had turned it on."

Judy shook her head. "The breaker had been thrown, I thought you said."

After taking a seat on the cushions to Judy's right, Sandra covered the blonde's hand, waiting for the next barrage of questions.

Settling into the far end of the sectional sofa, Donato frowned. "That doesn't add up. Was the circuit faulty?"

Sandra pulled a green rubber band from her pocket to catch her hair up before she launched into an abbreviated account of the day's events. Her hazel eyes roamed freely between the gaze from Donato's brown ones, curious and polite, to Judy's blue ones, still somewhat glazed and lost. "With Tom's death, perhaps you want to come check the facility for fingerprints. I can put together a list of anyone who ought to have been in or out of the place over the past few days."

Donato offered the brunette a careful, professional smile. "That would be a help, Ma'am." Another clap on his shoulder told him his partner had returned, so he sighed, then turned away from the two women.

With his head, Evans gestured towards the study. "You want to check out the crime scene, College Boy?"

Sandra and Judy exchanged a glance, but said nothing as Donato closed his eyes momentarily before he rose to follow the older man.

Halfway down the hall, Evans whirled. "I saw you moonin' back there. We got ourselves a f***in' murder on our hands, and I need a partner with a clear head!"

Donato leaned against the wall. He really, really hated working with this man. "Mike, I don't know what you think you saw, or even if the uniforms asked, but there was an attack on the deceased at the University this morning."

Evans flicked his grey eyes back in the direction of the living room. "Oh, who told you this? The blonde, or the brunette?" The detectives weren't far enough down the hall that his view of the women was blocked, so Evans took a moment to study them. Sandra had wrapped an arm around Judy's shoulders as they sat quietly on the sofa. "Lookers, for eggheads, both of 'em."

Jerry Donato sighed. "The brunette is Sandra Miller, a colleague and a professor at the University. She knows what happened there today. I'd like to take her back there to go over the events of the morning."

Evans slapped him lightly on the stomach. "Yeah, College Boy, I'd like to take her somewhere too. Let me show you what the uniforms found." He led Donato into the study.

-o-0-o-

Tom Wilton was slumped over his desk, his face on the keyboard, both arms hanging down limply. Had it not been for the wide circle of red staining the white carpet under his seat, he would have appeared to be asleep.

Donato cocked his head. "Mike, this makes no sense. He was shot in the back, but he hasn't moved. Usually, someone who's been - "

Evans grunted. "Nutin' like a little mystery to get the old juices goin', is there?" He pointed to the top of Wilton's skull. "I'm thinkin' knocked out. Or, could it be that you eggheads are so absorbed in your work that you don't hear it when someone beats on your own back door?"

Relieved the older detective had cleaned up his language in front of the family and the uniforms, Donato shot his partner a questioning eyebrow. "No mystery there. He'd been temporarily deafened by an accident at the Institute earlier today. There could have been a party in the living room and he would have heard nothing." He bent over the victim. "It looks like there was a blow to the head, probably before he was dead. But, I'm still confused. Why didn't he attempt to turn around? A blow to the head and a shot in the back aren't a guarantee of death. He could easily have survived this one, too."

Evans stepped up beside him. "Why not just take the clean shot to his head? If the guy doesn't turn around, there's no confrontation, no struggle."

One of the uniformed officers approached them. "There's something you need to see over here."

Evans held out his arm, waiting for Donato to move ahead of him.

-o-0-o-

Lowenberg Residence  
Atlantis, Athinios City  
Santorini, Greece  
Sunday, May 3, 1998  
6:47 pm

Max heard the soft click as Mulder placed the receiver in the phone. He had been studying the agent from his spot across the living room. "All arranged?"

The younger man rested his elbows on his knees. "Yeah."

Setting his reading glasses on the open pages of his Rilke, Max stood to cross the room to his stepson's side. "You've made the right choice, Mulder." He placed his hand carefully on the agent's shoulder. "Scully would want to return with you, but she's not in any physical shape to go, yet."

Mulder rubbed his face with both hands. "I know. She's too thin, too pale, and those grey circles under her eyes scare me. But that's not all of it."

Max eased onto the cushions of the rattan sofa closest to Mulder's chair. "Oh? Is there something else about Samantha that you haven't told me or your Mother yet?"

The dark-haired agent slumped in the chair, locking his foot around his ankle so his limbs appeared to tangle in themselves. "No." He raised his eyes to meet the hazel gaze of his stepfather. "It's not a problem with Sam, it's a problem with me." Mulder began prowling the room. "Sam's made a good life for herself. What right do I have to come shatter all that?"

Max watched him prowl. "Everyone has a right to the truth. You've lived your life by that principle. Why is this different?"

Stopping in front of the older man, Mulder crossed his arms. "Because." He licked his lips, forcing himself to put his fears into words. "Because this is Sam. Because of what she is." He began pacing again. "I need Scully there with me for this." He turned toward the enclosed porch where his partner had retreated to watch the sunset over the Bay.

Max chuckled. "What is Scully in this, Mulder, a magic talisman?"

Mulder twisted to look back at him. "No."

Nodding his understanding, Max kept silent so Isaac's nephew would work through his fears verbally.

Mulder stood over him. "Sam's a scientist, just like Scully. She'll expect a story where everything is laid out, so she can make connections and ask questions until it all makes sense to her." He began pacing again. "If Scully's there, she can handle proving things so much better than I can."

"Proving what things, Mulder?" Both men turned to the doorway from the porch, where Scully now stood. "Finished," she offered by way of explanation as she slid the door shut behind her. She closed the distance between herself and her partner. "Is there some problem with Sam?"

Grasping her wrist, Mulder guided her to the couch before he began to respond. "Nichols has had two men shadowing her, just to be certain. But, it seems one of the faculty in her department has died under strange circumstances. She's-" He bared his teeth in an incredulous grin. "-investigating. Or trying to, anyway."

Max and Scully exchanged glances of delight.

But it was Caroline who commented from the hall. "Well, Fox, she *is* my daughter and your sister. You weren't the only one in the family who couldn't leave a puzzle alone, you know." She crossed the room to settle under her husband's arm.

Scully lifted her wrist out of her partner's hand. "You know, this might provide a natural opening for you two to meet on neutral ground. It *could* be turned into an official FBI investigation, if you wanted." She stood. "How soon are we heading out?"

Mulder exchanged a frantic glance with his stepfather, who shrugged. Mulder stood, then grasped her shoulder. "Uh, Scully, it isn't that simple."

She stared up at him. "What do you mean? Of course it's that simple. You make some calls, we hop on a plane, and in a couple of days, we're in San Diego." She turned to head out of the room.

Mulder only tightened his grip on his partner's shoulder. "Skinner will want to meet with us first thing when we return to the States, Scully."

She tucked her chin. "So? Didn't you just call him?"

Mulder shook his head. "Just hung up. He wants us to stay here."

Scully dropped back onto the cushions. "Who? You? Me?"

Mulder held up his hand. "Me, more or less." He staircased his eyebrows. "He's afraid I'll spout off at the mouth when the press is too ready to believe. He needs time for them to - "

She cocked her head. "Become skeptics again?"

He grinned. "You might say that. Every believer needs a healthy skeptic in his life."

With a nod, she turned to Caroline. "I've been reading about the island ever since I considered it a possibility I might be coming out here, and - "

The older woman broke into a delighted laugh. "You'd like to go sight-seeing? We'd love that. We didn't have nearly enough time to take your mother around, Dana. We'll have to take plenty of snaps for her."

As he slid down his book ribbon, Max admired the ease with which his stepson had deflected his partner's concern. While he suspected Scully was perfectly aware she was being diverted, she was obviously also cognizant when she needed to give him his own space. No wonder they worked so well as a team.

-o-0-o-

Wilton Residence  
53 Via Don Benito, La Jolla  
San Diego, California  
Wednesday, April 29, 1998  
7:23 pm

The detectives bent over the officer. "What?" Donato asked.

The African-American officer pointed to the wall outlet. A grey cable lay on the floor, its bare ends pointed up. The clear plastic connector, with three inches of rectangular grey cable projecting out of it, was still in the wall. "We'll dust for fingerprints, just as soon as we've finished with the rest of the visual examination."

Donato glanced around the room, then pointed to a separate jack. "The phone's still hooked up. This must be a network cable." He traced the grey wire with his eyes to a modem on the desk, then walked over to kneel and check the connections. "This was his link to the outside. Whoever killed this guy wasn't worried about Wilton calling out for help, just that someone might log in to his computer after he died."

Evans fingered the cigarette pack in his pocket. "Egghead crime." He tapped Donato's ankle with the toe of his shoe. "This should take you what, one or two days, tops, right, College Boy?" A command from beside the doorway had both detectives on their feet.

"Ma'am, this is a crime scene. I wouldn't come in here if I were you." One of the uniformed officers was barring Judy Wilton's entrance as Sandra stood behind her, a hand on each shoulder.

"But that's my husband!"

"Judy, it's too late. There's nothing you can do." Sandra made a feeble attempt to comfort her friend. "The officers are taking care of this now."

Donato was grateful for the dark-haired woman's composure, but Judy pushed past them all to rush to the still form at the desk. "Tom!" She tried to lift him out of the chair, but failed, succeeding only in depositing his body on the floor.

Sandra stood by her. "Judy, please, come sit down on the sofa."

The blonde ignored her, dropping to the floor to cradle her husband in her arms. "Someone call the paramedics, please."

Sandra glanced at the table top, surprised at the tell-tale glint of light off abandoned slotted screw heads. "Judy, Tom wasn't upgrading his computer, was he?"

Confused, the professor looked up to the desk. "No. Why are the hard drive bays on the machine empty?" Still holding her husband tightly, she checked the work surface over, mentally scanning the clutter of floppies and cartridges. "None of the back-ups are missing."

Sandra attempted to lift several of the case lids with a pencil she had in her pocket. "The data cabinets are still locked."

Donato knelt by Judy. "Ma'am?"

She blinked up at him.

He rested one hand on her shoulder. "Could you step away to take a closer look at the desk?"

Judy stared down at the body in her arms. "I, I think so." She looked over at the detective. "He's really gone, isn't he?"

Donato nodded somberly. "I'm afraid so, Ma'am."

Sandra knelt by her friend. "Judy, Tom needs you to help us here."

Stunned by her grief and shock, Judy glared at the brunette. "And what do you know about Tom's needs?"

Evans and Donato exchanged a glance, but Sandra only shrugged the emotions away to attempt to hug the blonde. "I'm so sorry, Judy. Tom loved you so much." She looked over as the Medical Examiner stepped in the door. "Judy, it's okay. There's someone else here to look out for Tom." She managed to guide her friend back out of the room.

Evans tapped Donato on the shoulder, so they stepped out of the room while the Medical Examiner went about his work. Once they were alone in the kitchen, the older detective whirled. "You catch all that, College Boy?"

Donato nodded. "But this just leaves us with more questions. Given the position of the body, he must have turned over the hard drive before he shot."

Evans was fingering the cigarette pack. "He knew the killer so well that he didn't even bother to get up, just passed him or her the drive. Then why cut the network cable? Even an old two-finger typist like myself knows that you gotta have software to talk online."

Donato shook his head. "Or, he turned the hard drive over at gunpoint, and after the network cable was cut."

Evans lifted the cellophane-wrapped packet out of his pocket. "I'll let you handle the grievin' widow and friend. I need a smoke."

Donato nodded, relieved to be on his own again, that his partner was continuing to exercise a modicum of restraint.

-o-0-o-

Donato walked in line behind the medical examiner and his assistants as they took the now-covered corpse out. Once they were in the living room, he was relieved to see that the widow had used the break to compose herself. She was tucked primly into the two-seater by the far wall, leaning toward Sandra, who was standing by her side. The brunette, for her part, was close enough to offer comfort, if needed, but not hovering.

Donato suspected that there was a long history between the three of these people, one that he needed to get clear in his own mind. It would eliminate a suspect, or perhaps, two, given that the deceased seemed to know his attacker.

He perched on the edge of the cushion. "Ma'am, I'm sorry for your loss. There are some questions I need your help with, though. If you think you're up to answering them here, I'd be grateful for the assistance. But, if you need the time, or there are other matters you need to attend to, could we make arrangements to speak later, perhaps?"

Although she continued to hug her torso tightly, Judy's blue eyes were clearer than before. "It isn't fair, you know."

Donato offered her his best professional smile of sympathy. "No, Ma'am, it isn't."

The blonde sighed. "We had both just earned tenure. We were planning on starting a family next year." Her eyes canted towards Sandra.

Donato checked the standing woman, but read nothing except grief and sympathy in her expression. He pulled his notebook from his pocket. "Mrs. Wilton-"

"Doctor." There was an edge to her voice.

He glanced up at her.

She had dropped her feet to the floor. "Doctor Seymour-Wilton."

Donato licked his lips. "Doctor Seymour-Wilton. How did you learn of your husband's death?"

The brunette dropped her hand to the widow's back.

Judy glanced up before she replied. "Sandra had me paged at the conference I was attending. When I returned the call, she told me about the accident at the lab. I checked out of my hotel and drove home immediately. When I arrived, Tom was in the study." She began idly twisting the edge of a sofa cushion. "He didn't have a pulse, and there was all that blood. I guess I should have called for an ambulance, but sometimes, you just know."

Donato looked up at Sandra. "When I'm finished here, I'd like to visit the scene of this accident." He shifted closer to Judy. "Did your husband receive any threatening letters? Were there outstanding debts?"

Judy shook her head.

Donato sighed. "Ma'am, I'm just trying to establish a motive here, so please, don't take this question the wrong way. Do you know if there was anyone else?" He waited for a reaction from either woman, a stiffening, some tension or denial. When there was none, he hesitated before he continued. "A student, perhaps?"

The women exchanged a glance and laughed.

He looked from one to the other. "What? Was there?"

Judy rubbed her cheek with the palm of her left hand. "It would make it simple, wouldn't it?" She crossed her legs, then tucked her fingers under her upper knee. "In case you hadn't noticed, Tom is, *was* a handsome man. I'm sure there was a student or two that had a crush on him. But, no, there was no one else." She freed one hand to wave at the roof. "As for debts, this was my mother's gift to us when we married. She lives, with my stepfather, just up the street." She pointed vaguely toward the window.

Donato cocked his head. "So, you've always lived in San Diego?" He looked to Sandra for confirmation, his eyes narrowing as the chestnut-haired woman shook her head.

Judy sighed. "No. We rented the place out, for extra income. Starting off in academia, you need that. But, when the positions opened up out here, we moved in. So, no, there were no debts. If you would like to check, let me get you our financial records and our accountant's number." She tumbled to her feet. "It's in my study."

Donato tried to smile at Sandra. It had been hard not to think of all the times he had worked cases with Maria, she standing just out of the witness' vision, exactly where the brunette was. Only, instead of a sympathetic presence, Maria had been watching for any clues in body language as he had asked questions. He rubbed his eyes to clear the memories away.

Sandra had cocked her head at him. "Are you feeling well, Detective?"

He coughed once. "Yeah." They fell silent until Judy returned, papers in hand.

"Here." She held the folders out for the black-haired detective to take. "The accountant's address and phone number are on the first page." She resumed her huddle on the cushions, both arms now wrapped around a throw pillow.

Sandra stepped between the two. "Will that be all, Sir?"

Donato nodded. Perhaps this woman was as good at reading body language as his old partner had been. "Yes, for right now. We'll need to see what the forensics and crime scene analysis turn up." He shifted closer to Judy. "Ma'am, do you have someone who will be able to help you with the arrangements? Your mother? Another friend, perhaps?"

Judy shrugged. "Mom's not good with this sort of thing. I'll call Jenna." She found her feet again. "That's my sister who lives up in North County. She can be here in a half an hour." She reached out to hug the chestnut-haired woman. "Sandra, I want you to go find out who killed Tom."

She squeezed both slight shoulders in response, then moved away.

Donato fell in step beside her. "Let me speak with my partner."

Evans was just crushing his latest cigarette under his heel when they emerged, Sandra heading for her bicycle so the two could converse in private.

Donato took Evans aside. "I'm going to the University now."

Evans checked over his partner's shoulder. "Looks like you'll need the car." He passed over his keys. "I'll ride back with the uniforms. See you back at the station?

Donato simply nodded as he walked away.

-o-0-o-

Lowenberg Residence  
Atlantis, Athinios City  
Santorini, Greece  
Sunday, May 3, 1998  
7:36 pm

"How is Mrs. Scully?" Mulder waited in the doorway of the study while his partner hung up the phone. Her shoulders sagged visibly as he watched.

"She said she didn't have time to talk. The dog needed to go for a walk."

"What?" He hurried to her side. "I can't believe - "

She shook her head. "Red Boy could, on occasion, have gas problems, but I don't think that's it."

He bent over her. "What else could it be at twelve thirty in the afternoon?"

She tucked her hair behind her ear. "Some charity work, no doubt." She sighed.

Mulder grasped her shoulder. "But, she would have told you had that been the case, right?"

She rested both hands in her lap. "Not necessarily. She knows that sort of thing doesn't really interest me."

"Did she say she had received my letter?" Caroline smiled from the doorway.

Scully nodded. "She had. She said to say thank you."

The expression faded. "Thank you?" The white-haired woman repeated the words, unable to hide her surprise. "Oh." Caroline turned to head down the hall.

Mulder crossed the room to the divan. "Scully, there's something wrong."

"We don't know that." She joined him there, edging close to one sprawled leg. "She may just be being cautious. After all she's seen while she was here, she may understand that it's probably safer for her not to volunteer information over the phone."

Leaning forward, he propped his elbows on his knees. "Un-hunh."

She narrowed her green-blue eyes at him. "You don't sound convinced."

Mulder looked his partner over carefully. Her cheekbones were entirely too prominent in a face that was decidedly haggard, despite all the time she had spent outside. He knew, from having watched her crawl up and down the length of the pool, just how pronounced the knobs of her spine and ribs were. As he lifted her hand off her knee to rub the fingers gently with his thumb, he could feel her skin stretched over the delicate bones. The thickened muscles and tendons he expected were there, but it seemed she had been reduced to the barest essence of what she was. He half expected her to float off the couch, so clasped her palm tightly.

"Mulder?" She was blinking at him.

He forced himself to focus on her gaze, not on the significant gap he saw between her thighs, despite her usual knees-pressed-tightly-together, rigid-backed perch she had assumed. "I just don't think now is the time for her to be too busy, Scully."

She slid her hand away to cross her arms. "I don't know what you mean. Charlie's coming for a visit, and between the baby and John-John, there are preparations to be made. Little John is full of curiosity, and, in case you hadn't noticed, Mom has shelves of breakables. It would be easier if he didn't decide to experiment with her porcelain cardinals to see if they could fly." One cheek quirked at her joke.

"You mean they can't?" He smirked.

"Not the last time I checked." She settled against the back of the sofa, molding herself to its contours. "I'll call back in a couple of days. You can talk with Val and Charlie if you want?"

He held up both hands. "Nope. I'm glad Sam's not married with kids. I'm not ready to be an instant uncle."

She cocked an eyebrow. "But she may have pets. What about a cat, Mulder?"

He shrugged. "That's different, Scully. I can 'adjust' to a cat."

She chuckled. "I hope so."

-o-0-o-

Patio Terrace, UCSD Faculty Club  
University of California at San Diego  
Wednesday, April 29, 1998  
8:12 pm

Andrea Rosen took a deep breath, then smiled at the man beside her. "This kept getting put off for so long I had hoped to avoid it altogether. I've always hated these things, Nic."

"I know, so have I." Nichols smoothed his mustache, then pulled at the silk of his black bow tie. "Cary didn't want to come to this? I thought you and she were comfortable here?"

Andrea straightened her grey linen jacket. "We are. That's not the problem." She smiled helplessly, the expression resembling a grimace on her thin face. "Cary thinks she's too fat. She hates anything formal like this."

He glanced down at his rumpled tweed suit, which was pulled tight over his stomach and bunched up at the ankles, then over at his former partner's pantsuit. Its long, clean lines accented her slender physique, making him feel like a fuzzy billiard ball at her side. The precision with which the linen had been ironed into crispness reminded him, with a twinge of sadness, that he was no longer in a wife's care. "So, she tells you to take me? I'm flattered, but I'm not in much better shape in the appearances department." His faded blue eyes met her hazel ones.

The brunette answered with a flick of her hand. "Oh, not only that, but I need you to keep a watch on the characters we meet. If the Consortium is as active out here as Walter Skinner thinks, who knows where they are."

The balding man stuck out his arm. "In that case, shall we? This is your bash, after all." As they walked up the stairs, he chuckled. "The Bureau loves to throw these things for members of Congress, just to stay on their good side. Alicia and I were used to having to attend them." His face darkened. "At least, I thought she liked attending them." He pushed the door open to reveal a roomful of people who looked as uncomfortable in formal clothing as he felt.

The first man to greet them towered over them both, his fleshy, somber face studying them as he shook their hands. "W. Kenneth Mitchell." The name emerged in a faded Australian accent. "Good to meet you, Doctor Rosen. You'll be continuing your cosmic background studies?"

She nodded. "Yes, I will."

"Hunh." He moved away.

"That was odd." Nichols watched him go.

She shrugged. "I'm guessing it wasn't his field of specialty. With a lot of academic types, they're not good at socializing, so unless you're involved in their field of research, they're almost shy."

A tall African-American blocked their path. "Hello! Let me introduce myself. I'm Professor Nigel Wilson in the Physics Department." He stuck out his hand. "Welcome to the Scripps Institute of Oceanography." After the agents offered their introductions, he smiled. "Actually, I'm with the University, not the Institute. I'm afraid it'll just be the acting Head and myself here tonight." He pointed to a white-haired couple, a tall man and a tiny woman.

"Oh?" The balding agent frowned.

"One of my colleagues has been murdered. A Tom Wilton. Real up and comer, sad to say."

Andrea studied him carefully. The words were all correct, but the face betrayed something else. _Glee? Relief?_ "That's terrible. Are there any suspects yet?"

Wilson shrugged. "Not that I know of." He looked down at Nichols. "So, what do you do?"

The agents exchanged a glance before he answered. "I'm with the Bureau. I've recently been assigned here from Headquarters in DC."

"A G-man." Wilson began to shuffle. "Oh. Then you two must make pretty good money. 'Scuse me." He moved off quickly.

Nichols watched him leave quickly. "Ros, I have to ask, are *all* academics this odd?"

Andrea began walking toward the white-haired couple. "Most of them, to be honest. Remember that these are the guys everyone made fun of in school, so they retreated to their books." She stuck out her hand to the man. "Hi, I'm Andrea Rosen."

"John Williams." He shook her arm vigorously. "Before you ask, the composer is named for me, not vice versa." He waited through their chuckles. "This is my beloved wife, Elizabeth." Rosen noticed the woman preening visibly at the compliment.

"And you are?" Elizabeth was almost cooing at Rosen's companion.

"Phil Nichols, ASAC." He grasped her veined hand gently.

"Oh?" She looked to her husband, who glanced down with a frown, then she retreated behind his arm.

"My wife doesn't know what that means, Sir." Williams patted the slight fingers.

As Nichols launched into a description of his past and present duties, Rosen studied the pair. John seemed stiff and bored, for which she could not help but be sympathetic. But Elizabeth radiated a vitality that seemed forced. Whether it was due to the lateness of the hour, or whether she was a solitary woman like Cary, required to socialize against her will, Andrea couldn't quite make out. But she seemed terribly interested in what her former partner was telling her. When she wasn't making little nonsensical comments in an effort to spur the conversation on, she was hanging on her husband's every twitch or gesture. But, there was something peculiar even about that, something Rosen couldn't quite place.

"Oh!" Elizabeth's exclamation was particularly forceful, startling Andrea out of her reverie. "In your days in the Drug Division, did you end up investigating many murders?"

Rosen watched her former partner blanch. "No, Ma'am. There were deaths to be investigated, to be certain, but most of those were the result of overdose, not of premeditation. If there were any of those, the culprits usually weren't far away."

She nodded, as if serious for the first time. "Oh. I'm sure your work was dangerous, still."

"Elizabeth, I think that's quite enough for tonight."

Rosen and Nichols exchanged a glance at the severity of his tone. "It's no problem, Sir." The agent offered gently. "I'm not in that line of work anymore. Different, but no less challenging."

John Williams took his wife's arm forcefully. "Well, we don't want to monopolize all your time. You have many people to meet." With that, he steered her away.

Andrea watched them go. "There's definitely something odd about those two. They were only worried about what you did for a living. I was expecting, given their age, we'd have to explain *more* than once that we're just friends."

Nichols' eyes glinted. "Good to hear it, Ros." He waved at the room. "Well, let's go meet more of these odd-balls you'll be calling colleagues."

-o-0-o-

Fluid Dynamics Lab  
Scripps Institute of Oceanography  
La Jolla, California  
Wednesday, April 29, 1998  
8:21 pm

Donato had followed the chestnut-haired professor to the back of the laboratory, where there were several trash bags leaning against a wall.

Sandra passed him the nearest. "We didn't expect this to be any more than a fraternity prank."

He slid the fastener off the end of the green plastic. "So, why save them?"

She offered a tentative smile. "You never know when a window or a filter needs repairing, and it's easier to have spares on hand."

Donato wiggled his fingers into a latex glove before he lifted the metal frame free to study the slits. "This is one straight cut. That's tough to do with steel. Even with wire clippers, there should be some saw-tooth marks here."

Sandra narrowed her hazel eyes. "That eliminates a spur-of-the-moment prank, then. This must have been deliberate."

Donato slid the screen into the plastic storage bag, fastened it shut, collected another, before reaching for a third.

But Sandra had the remaining two in her hands. "You shouldn't carry all this, not with that briefcase. We can take these back inside, or out to your car. Wherever."

As they walked back along the tunnel, Donato's gaze bounced around the space. "Looks like you have a mess on your hands."

She sighed. "I know. I'll have to assemble most of the graduate students who work here to straighten the place up." She glanced over at Donato. "But, that'll be after you and the rest of the Crime Lab are finished collecting evidence." She waved one bag at the door. "We can exit through there."

"And that's the only way in?"

"Other than through the the control room, yes." She stared up at the high bay ceiling. "If you look up in that corner of the room, you'll see a door in the roof. But it's three stories off the ground, and a straight drop onto this concrete floor. I don't see any reason to use it once the screens had been cut."

"Escape?" Donato looked over as they stepped into the control room.

Sandra stacked her bags on one of the workbenches. "It wouldn't come to that. Once Tom was trapped in the tunnel and the blower was on, the door through here was open. We have enough graduate students and technicians coming and going that no one would think it unusual to see someone leave at that time of morning."

After adding his to the pile, Donato leaned against a scope cart. "But wouldn't it be odd to have the tunnel running unattended?"

She flopped into one of the castered chairs, an act that struck him as unstudied, yet graceful. "Not necessarily. Once an experiment is underway, there's not much to do but watch and wait." She pulled her hair back behind her shoulders with one hand.

The detective's breath caught at the gesture.

She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her splayed knees. "Detective, are you all right?"

He shook his head. "I'm sorry, but I have to ask this."

She propped both feet on one of the tables, one ankle hooked over the other. "Let me guess. Were Tom and I having an affair?" She crossed her arms, then stared at the ceiling. "The short of it? No." She cocked an eyebrow at him. "The long of it? Tom and I have known each other since we were graduate students together at Stanford. My adoptive parents were killed in a plane crash right before I had to defend my thesis."

"I'm sorry." Donato was surprised to realize the sympathy was genuine.

Her dark eyebrows, heavier than usual for a woman, set in an uneven cant. "Tom was a good friend, who helped me through the worst of it. We spent so much time together that I'm sure there were rumors, but no, we weren't involved. Tom was handsome, and he was so brilliant. If we worked together and lived together..." She shook her head. "It wouldn't have worked. We would have burned each other up if we had."

Memories of late-night arguments in squad cars ringing in his mind, Donato nodded. "I know what you mean."

She pointed her chin at him. "We went on to post-docs together, through three until we found ourselves here."

Donato slid an armless chair over with his foot. "And Judy?" He settled down.

She smiled. "Tom met Judy when we were at Purdue. It was a whirlwind thing, and a real surprise. Judy is as heavily into myths and their impact on our culture as we were into turbulence and chaos. Different as night and day, but they were so happy. And we had some great conversations over coffee."

Donato licked his lips. "How did you feel about their marriage? Were you happy?"

Those canted eyebrows again. "Oh, I can't say I didn't have thoughts, or hopes, but with Tom marrying Judy, it all got easier. We could do our work together without a lot of innuendo and whispering."

A tall man in a turban stepped into the control room. "Doctor Miller? You said there was someone who needed to speak with me?" The words flowed in a rhythm of a Pakistani accent.

Sandra climbed to her feet. "Yes. Thanks for coming by at this late hour. This is Detective Donato."

Nodding, Jerry turned from contemplating the professor to her student. "Have a seat, please." He offered what he hoped was a calming smile, since the young man was rubbing his slight chin anxiously.

Sandra rolled a chair over beside her, then waited for him to settle in before asking, "Have you heard about what happened to Doctor Wilton today?"

He shook his head. "No, I hadn't, Doctor Miller. We were all wondering where you two were."

Although the comment was offered in all sincerity, Donato thought he detected a slight stiffening of Sandra's shoulders. He chastised himself for an overactive imagination as she was answering without hesitation. "There was an accident in the wind tunnel. Doctor Wilton was trapped inside until I found him."

The younger man was on his feet. "No! Is he all right?"

Donato leaned forward, studying the unlined face carefully. "No, he's dead. That's why I'm here, son."

Anwar collapsed onto the seat, shock and grief etched into his delicately chiseled features. He looked to the chestnut-haired woman for confirmation. "This cannot be true, Doctor Miller, can it?"

She nodded. "I'm afraid so, Anwar."

He buried his face in his hands for a few moments, as Sandra rubbed his shoulder gently. When he had composed himself, he looked over at the detective. "Please, Sir, Doctor Wilton was so good to us. What can I do to help you find out why this happened?"

Donato rested a briefcase on the workbench. "I'm collecting fingerprints from everyone who might have been in the tunnel chamber over the past few days. Now, agreeing to be imprinted - "

Both slender hands were fully extended. "You will work by the process of elimination, yes? It is good, then."

Once the marks were transferred, Donato slid a card across the wood. "If you think of anything, please ring me at the cellular phone number. I'll be available to take calls at any time."

After wiping his hands on his jeans, the younger man slid the cardboard in his pocket. "Of course." He grasped Sandra's extended hand. "Doctor Miller, whatever shall we do?"

She sent him a faltering smile. "I'm not certain myself, yet."

Anwar sent one glance back over his shoulder at the detective, then left.

Once they were alone, Donato stepped over to the seated woman, "Doctor Miller, if you need a few minutes, we can continue this tomorrow."

"No. No, I'll be fine. And, please, it's Sandra. After tonight, I can stand a little informality."

He nodded, then turned to the door as the next student entered.

-o-0-o-

Lowenberg Residence  
Atlantis, Athinios City  
Santorini, Greece  
Monday, May 4, 1998  
1:12 am

Dana Scully awoke with a start. There were noises coming from down the hall, sounds she found sadly familiar. Her partner was weeping in his sleep. She sighed. She had hoped with his quest for his sister almost over, that these torments in the darkness would cease. But, it was apparently not to be, or, not yet. She threw off the covers, then padded to the door, nearly colliding with Caroline as they both stepped into the corridor.

"Sorry." The auburn-haired woman felt slightly naked in her T-shirt and shorts, compared to the older woman in her long nightgown and silk robe.

In the faint light, the two women exchanged wan smiles of sympathy, before Caroline touched her arm. "Poor Fox. He's calling for someone, I just can't make out whom." They fell in step, then the older woman looked over. "You should go back to bed, Dana."

"Scully!"

The agent shook her head. "No. My turn." She grasped the doorknob firmly.

Caroline nodded. "I'll be awake, if you need anything."

Scully closed her eyes momentarily before pushing her way into the darkness. "Mulder?"

Her partner pulled himself awake, sweat trailing down his chest. "Scully?" His eyes glowed as they fixed on her face. "Did I hear Mom?"

"Mm-hum." She sat beside him on the bed, then began rubbing his arm. "But, she's okay." She felt him relax marginally. "We're all okay."

He flung the covers off to begin prowling the room. "Except me." He glanced back as she switched on a beside lamp. "Spooky Mulder." He snorted in what she knew was self-deprecation. "Physician, heal thyself."

Scully folded her hands in her lap. "Well, he did. With a little help."

His back to her, Mulder crossed his arms to stare into the blackness. "Hah, hah, I forgot. Doctor Scully takes that stuff seriously."

She shrugged off the hurt she knew he was attempting to fling away from him, then joined her partner at the window. Kevin Kryder was long behind them, so she refused to rise to a fight neither of them needed or wanted. She rubbed small circles in the dampness on his back instead. "So, what was it about?"

He sagged against her hand. "I don't remember."

"Mulder..."

He glanced down at her. "Exactly. There was a circle of old men, chanting. I couldn't see their faces, couldn't make out their words. I just know that I was being forced to choose. You or Sam. I told them I didn't want to choose. It was some kind of council, there was some kind of judgment. If I didn't choose one, I would lose you both. I told them I wouldn't. They - " He shook his head.

Scully cocked an eyebrow. She refused to tell him that hers was the name he called out at that moment in the dream, since it was tied into the images in his mind and could have meant anything. But, she had to offer him hope, reassurance. The time for truth, for the hard facts, would be in the daylight, not now in the darkness where horror seemed tangible. She encircled his waist tentatively, then heard his sigh of relief, felt one long arm drape around her shoulders. "Mulder. You don't have to choose. I'm your partner, and your friend. Sam's your sister. You were alone for too long with your grief. Now, so much has changed in the past few months. I'd hope we would all have a place in your life."

His beard stubble caught on her hair as he pressed his cheek down on her head to nod. "So would I." The scenes in the dream still possessing him, he held her tightly. "You won't make me choose, will you?"

"I'm not a chanting old man, now am I?" He snorted in response, but refused to release her as she had expected. "You'll need time to get to know Sam, you realize." Perhaps now she was required to ground him in the reality of his situation.

He stepped back, freeing her. "She won't know who I am. I'll have to convince her that we're related." He gripped her shoulders. "You'll help, won't you?"

She nodded. "I'll do whatever I can, Mulder. I can go through the genetic evidence with her. We can assemble a time line of what she remembers and what we've uncovered." One cheek twitched. "There's so much that will need careful explanation, unless obsessions with little grey men are hard-wired into the Mulder DNA."

Finally hearing her attempt at levity, he grinned. "You think? That would make it so much simpler."

Relieved, she claimed the chair, while he folded himself into a tight ball on the bed. She tucked her tousled curls behind her ear. "There will be memories, snatches of images. I can tell her about mine." She shrugged. "Perhaps hers will be similar."

He had been brooding as he watched her ramble. "But none of this will make it any easier with your family. They'll think I'm trying to run your life."

"I'm not worried about Bill and Charlie." She rose to stand by him. "They're happy in their little world of regulations and discipline. I'm so far removed from any existence they might come to understand we'll always be polite strangers."

He rested his chin on his knees. "I'm sorry, Scully. It shouldn't have to be like that for you."

She was undaunted, but gentle in her reply. "My Mom understands about you and Sam. Who wouldn't?" She brushed back a stubborn tangle of thatch from his forehead. "Ahab would have thought you a good man, if possessed of odd beliefs. His is the only opinion I value, Mulder, not Bill's and Charlie's."

He dropped his feet to the floor. "Scully?"

She rested beside him. "Hum?"

"How do you know that? I mean, did you and he talk - " He shook his head at the question.

Awash in memories, she smiled. "Oh, yes. He was perfectly aware of the sacrifices the Navy life asked of us all. It was why he wanted me to push for the PhD, as well as the MD. He wanted me to have the stability and freedom that academia offered." She rose to stand by the window. "It was something we could never talk about in front of Mom. She only saw stability as coming from belonging to someone else."

Mulder joined her there. "Then you had to be a thankless child and choose a profession that was neither stable nor free."

She shook her head. "I've had stability." She smiled up at him for a moment. "In a way neither of them expected. I've had the freedom to explore things I never would have seen in a comfortable University post."

He was beaming openly at her now.

She touched his wrist, then stepped away from the window. "You're not alone in this, Mulder."

He blinked. "Yeah. Sure."

She walked to the door, then looked back. He hadn't moved. There must have been something more he needed from her. She sighed. "It was my choice to work with you, remember? My choice to keep on working with you." At his nod, she crossed the space to grip his elbow. "I don't blame you for anything that's happened to me or my family. Anything. Do you understand?" She waited for an affirmation. "It's just that now I find the old answers aren't working anymore."

Mulder retreated to the safety of the mattress. "What do you mean, Scully?"

She walked back to adjust the covers around him, then studied her partner, who was hunched over in place. "Oh, not about our work." Reaching for his hand, she smiled when he extended his arm to meet hers. "That's the one thing I *do* have faith in."

He attempted a faltering smile. "Thank you."

She nodded. "We're doing what's right. As for working more closely with Matheson, well, that we'll need to talk about. But pursuing the Truth, using means that are just and fair, is always right." She settled on the edge of the bed. "I meant for me. If I were a man, it would be so much easier." She lifted her hand out of Mulder's to rub her forehead.

"I cannot be a man with wishing." Mulder's words startled her into meeting his gently amused gaze.

Another slight twitch of her cheek. "We would be fellow Knights on a Quest, saving hapless peasants from abusive Lords, and all that." She regarded him carefully. "But how do I find meaning for myself, when the faith and the culture I was raised in tell me that my only fate is to *be* the damsel who is rescued? To settle down with the Prince in his Palace and selflessly produce heirs to the throne?"

Flopping against the head board, he inhaled deeply. "Ooh, Doctor, you go right to the heart of things, don't you?"

She lifted one corner of her mouth. "I thought you liked that about me, Mulder."

He shifted on the mattress until he was staring directly at her. "I wouldn't have you any other way. You *know* that." He rubbed his chin. "So, your mind takes you on a journey through the past, looking for women like yourself to bond with?" He dropped his gaze to her hands, pillowed in her lap.

"Yes." She sighed. "I think so. But all I find are ancient goddesses. That just erects another wall between Mom and me. For her, her faith is paramount." She crossed her arms. "I can analyze all I want, but the domain of critical thought, the tangible, measurable universe of cause and effect, and the domain of faith are two separate ones. In the one, I know if I pursue answers using logic and method, I will find them, or find that I need to frame the question differently." Her eyes slightly dilated, she turned to him. "But in matters of faith, where do I, Dana Scully, stand? How *can* I stand, when there is no place for all that I am?" She pushed her curls behind her ear. "Outside of a convent, Catholicism has no role for sterile, unattached women devoted to their careers. We challenge and we threaten the status quo. So, where do I find transcendence? How do I connect to something greater than my mere earthly existence?" She tucked her legs under herself.

Mulder reached across to grasp her wrist. "I don't know, Scully. Maybe it's the journey that counts, not the destination." They exchanged a glance. "But there is a destination we can reach tomorrow, I mean, later today, if you're so inclined."

She smiled. "Ancient Thira? It'll be warmer. We can save Akrotiri for a day when the weather's a little off."

He nodded. "Ever since Mom discovered a certain pathologist's fascination with all things archaeological, she's been bugging me to go while we're here." He pulled his knees up under his chin. "You feel up to that then?"

Pushing her feet to the slate, she stood. "Before lunch or after?"

Rising as well, Mulder gripped her shoulder. "Before, I should think. It isn't a large site." He bent over her. "That Prince with the Palace wouldn't happen to come equipped with an oversized nose, dark hair, and flashing eyes, now would he?"

Scully tossed her head. "Yuseph Hiram? Not a chance. Let me try to sleep some more." They walked to the door in silence, Mulder's hand slipping to her waist. Once they were outside his room, she looked up. "Good thing you touched base with Skinner yesterday."

A single shake of his head, then he teased as she moved away down the hall, "Playing hooky isn't nearly so much fun when you already have permission, Doctor."

-o-0-o-

Fluid Dynamics Lab  
Scripps Institute of Oceanography  
La Jolla, California  
Wednesday, April 29, 1998  
10:52 pm

Finished with the third and final interview, Donato rubbed the back of his neck. The first had been with an Asian woman who had spoken so softly he had been forced to sit with his ear directly in front of her to hear her. The second student, an earring-bedecked blond man who could have stepped off any beach in LA, had left Jerry wondering whether his interviewee ever stopped surfing long enough to study. The haughty replies and disapproving glares of the last, an Iranian on a visa, had immediately set the detective's teeth on edge. But all the interviews had been similar to the exchanges with Anwar, protests of horror and offers to provide any and all assistance required the catch the murderer of their beloved advisor.

At the end of the sessions, Donato rolled his chair over by Sandra, who was now stone-faced and stiff. "It's nearly eleven. Let me run you home."

She hugged herself tightly, then nodded. "Yes. Yes, I'd appreciate that."

As he collected the samples and fingerprint kit, Donato kept one eye on the woman in the chair. For some investigators, her lack of visible grief, combined with her previous history with the deceased, would have made Sandra Miller an obvious suspect. But, he thought he was a better judge of character than that. Not all women were hysterics from Central Casting; some tucked their emotions deeply inside of them. These women would reveal their feelings so infrequently that a Swiss glacier would cough up another Iceman before they would expose their pain.

He found himself thinking of Maria again. Latinas were often stereotyped as babbling fonts of ephemeral moods, but not his former partner. She had a temper that exploded like a flash fire in the mountains, certainly, and a wit that he loved to see her turn on the other detectives of the precinct. But, it had taken her months to admit, while huddled in his arms during an exhausting, tear-filled stake-out, to the nightmares plaguing her after one of the few shoot-outs they had been involved in during their time together. One of the few, until -

"Detective? Are you all right?" Sandra was standing beside him, clutching the plastic-wrapped screens in her hands.

He shook his head. "Do you need anything before we go?"

She nodded. "I'd like to stop by my office. I'll need to leave the Department Head a message telling him what's happened. Tom's classes will have to be picked up by one of the other professors for a few days, and it can't be by myself. This will take up more of my time than would be fair to the students."

They walked to the car without conversing, Donato using his cell phone to fill in his partner and hear updates on the results of the investigation.

Even for the duration of the ride, they sat in silence, until a small noise, fainter than a whimper, escaped the dark-haired woman. "I'm sorry. Judy will need a strong friend over the next few months."

Donato glanced toward her. "And you've lost someone you're very close to. It hurts. Believe me, I know."

She narrowed her hazel eyes at him. "Oh?"

He stared straight ahead. "My partner, Maria Hernandez, was killed during an arrest attempt several months ago."

She studied her hands. "And it has taken you this long to be able to talk about it?"

He nodded. "This guy I'm with now, he's so different from her. It's tough for me to relate to him."

She sighed. "So, anything new?"

He bit his lip, then considered the pros and cons of filling her in on the particulars of the investigation. He knew it was a violation of procedure, that he might be giving away information to a suspect. But, he also knew that order and detail were essential if he were to keep his newly forming connection with this woman open. And, he suspected that, by working with this woman, he could solve this case, without being subjected to the taunts and jabs of Mike Evans.

He glanced at her. "Do you want to hear the medical examiner's findings?"

She set her shoulders. "No. But, I need to know. What killed - " She stared fixedly out the window.

He turned his attentions back to the road, reminding himself to drop the law enforcement terminology as he explained. Sandra Miller might have the intelligence and wit of his old partner, but she wasn't a seasoned peace officer. "I'm sorry, but, it's no surprise. He bled to death. It's what usually happens with a projectile wound like that."

She drew in a deep breath, then released it slowly. Donato knew she was using the exercise to quell her emotions. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched her fingers plucking at the trim on the passenger seat. "I'm sorry, too. I should have stayed with him, or have gotten someone else to go stay with him. I'd tried to convince him he shouldn't have stayed there alone, not when he couldn't hear the phone, or the door, or have have anyone there to know he was calling out for help."

Donato cocked his head. "But then we would have had two deaths to investigate, not just one."

Now it was his turn to fall under scrutiny. He speculated she was calculating whether he was speaking out of professional courtesy, or whether his own loss was too near to handle any way other than through displacement. But whatever was going on in her mind resolved itself, since she blinked, then turned to face forward. "Oh, you'll need to turn there." She pointed, then finished directing him to her house. Donato made a mental note that she appeared capable of rapid decision-making, which seemed utterly at odds with what he thought he knew about scientists and their personalities.

-o-0-o-

Cape Mesa Vouno  
Santorini, Greece  
Monday, May 4, 1998  
8:17 am

"Oh, which chapel is that, Profitis Illias or Zoodichos Pigi?" Scully pointed.

Mulder glanced over at his partner. He was utterly amazed, once again, at the depth of her knowledge about this island. She must have spent hours poring over every tour book and web-page she could lay her hands on. But, if he was pleased at the progress of this outing, his mother was delighted.

"Zoodichos Pigi, Dana." Caroline smiled at the pathologist. "Profitis Illias is at the peak of the mountain. This was the water supply for ancient Thera."

Now the dark-haired agent threw a gaze at his stepfather, who had lapsed into silence shortly after they had arrived here. When Mulder chose, for once, to follow suit, his partner had blossomed, growing more animated than he had seen her since their sight-seeing trip through Athens. He made a mental note to find some excavations when they needed to take a break back in the States. Perhaps he could scour up a case close to some of the native mounds in Ohio, just to watch her smile and bounce like this.

"Mulder?" She was blinking up at him expectantly.

Max patted his shoulder. "Did you want to wait to join the Tour?" He waved toward a distant booth, where a young man in Greek costume was smoking a cigarette.

The dark-haired agent studied their three faces. "Not really, no." He let a lop-sided grin grow. "Besides, I think we have better tour guides here than those, don't you?"

Caroline covered her mouth to suppress a giggle. "Fox, you'll charm some young woman yet."

Scully nodded. "He's very good at moving our paperwork through the system. Most of the ladies in Travel would do anything for him."

His mother tucked her hand behind Max's arm. "Then I suggest we get started. This site isn't as well-maintained as Akrotiri, being as it's only Hellenic, not Minoan."

"Only." The auburn-haired woman was trying to look in all directions as they walked. "Any other place it would be crawling with tourists, but here..." She shook her head.

Mulder bent over his partner. "Not interested, Scully? Mark this day."

She stopped. "Mulder! That's not what I meant! This site helped archaeologists determine when the island was resettled, which may or may not have been when the volcanism stopped and it was initially safe to do so." She had assumed her classic arms akimbo pose, squarely in his path.

Caroline canted a white brow at her son. "You see, Fox, there was, no doubt, a period of time when, after initial attempts to resettle found the ground too hot to revisit, that the ancients were afraid to return."

He bent into his partner's face. "Or the Atlanteans were making a last stand at defending themselves." He smirked as both women let out exasperated sighs. If they were thinking of double-teaming him this early in the day, he'd have to cut loose in his own defense, despite the giddy, off-balance glee that had him dancing around the little group.

Scully dropped her fists from her hips. "Mulder, be serious! I only meant that it isn't something new and exotic, like Akrotiri. So the tourists don't come here as often. So the residents don't maintain it as well. Still, a find, one that any other small island would be happy to have."

"I was being serious, Scully." He dropped his hand to her waist to guide her forward.

"Indeed." Caroline agreed, although with whom Mulder couldn't yet tell. "And, one I haven't visited since we first arrived here."

"Now, Line-chen." Max patted his wife's back.

"Hey, no problem." The dark-haired agent offered a hesitant grin. "Like I've been to National Cathedral, either."

Scully glanced up at him. "Really? It's a wonderful place, Mulder. Lovely to go and wander the grounds. I should think it would remind you of Oxford."

As he caught the slight spring to her step, he realized one destination for an unplanned outing had just been offered to him.

-o-0-o-

Miller Residence  
142 Curie Avenue, University City  
San Diego, California  
Wednesday, April 29, 1998  
11:36 pm

As they rolled the last three blocks up her street, Sandra studied the detective who was driving her home. He seemed short, for a policeman, barely reaching her shoulder. But, that wasn't a fair comparison, since at a lanky six feet, she was tall for a woman. If she had to guess, she'd say he was under five and a half feet. The stocky barrel of his chest and thickened arms and hands could have been muscle, if he bench-pressed weights, but his spindly legs told her whatever body-building regimen he practiced stopped at the waist. A thicket of black hair curled on his head like a miniature version of that of her favorite of the actors who had played Doctor Who, Tom Baker.

She had noted earlier, when he removed his jacket and tie at the lab, that he was one of those men with a generous amount of chest and arm hair, as black as that on his head. He made no effort to conceal it behind an undershirt and long sleeves, as though he had long ago abandoned the effort as futile. Given the darkness of his chin and cheeks, she could see why. But, his brown eyes sparkled with intelligence, and with a sense of humor that flashed at the oddest times. She suspected it was a coping mechanism for long hours in a job that saw its share of difficulties.

Sandra faced the detective directly. "Look, I don't know if it would help, but I have records of all the places Tom and I have been employed together, with persons to contact."

Donato glanced at his chestnut-haired passenger. "Why would that be important?" He rubbed the back of his neck. "Wouldn't the motive be more likely something closer in time to the present?"

She crossed her arms, then dropped them to grip the sides of the seat cushion. She had to work to control her natural tendency to fidget, but she wanted to avoid gestures that would seem defensive. "I, I don't know." She caught her hair up in one hand. "Tom and I were both well-funded, at least until 2002."

Donato grinned. "So, I shouldn't look for the jealous colleague who lost his grant money to the famous and beloved Doctor Wilton, you're saying?"

She eyed him. "Nothing so simple. We made our share of enemies getting that wind tunnel built. Departmental politics can get pretty hairy, especially when it comes to issues of lab space. That tunnel takes up a lot of square footage."

Donato pushed his black curls off his forehead. "Ah, then I should be looking for the faculty member with the shoe-box sized office and arrest him?" He smirked at her conspicuously as he turned the Ford into her driveway.

Rather than offer a rejoinder, Sandra Miller threw the car door open, then ran to the front entrance of her house. When he hurried up the walk, she glared down at him. "I don't know what your job does to you, Detective Donato, but if it makes you that unfeeling about the death of a vital, intelligent, decent human being, I *suggest* you find yourself a new career." She crossed her arms.

He held up both hands. "Hey, Doctor Miller, no offense. My sense of humor has a way of popping off at the absolute worst time." He shoved his hands in his pockets. "I'd like to take a look at those records of yours. If that's all right."

With a sigh, she slid her key in the dead bolt. "I'm sorry. All this is getting to me." She held the door open. "Watch out for Salazar."

He glanced around the carpet inside the door. "Your dog?"

She shook her head. "My - Salazar! Don't you think of - Salazar!" She was running in circles around the front yard, a chubby red tabby scooting just ahead of her hands. Donato moved to between the cat and the street, until Sandra captured the feline with a diving tackle. She carried him into the house, his tail straight up against her arm. "Salazar! You know you're not allowed out the front door. I wouldn't let you out the back one either, if you didn't raise such a fuss about it."

Donato stepped inside, then closed the door behind them. "Certainly gets his way when he wants it. You sure this wasn't to punish you for being gone this evening?"

She tossed him a lop-sided grin. "You've had cats, I take it."

He scratched the flat spot where the tabby's nose turned up slightly. "My Mom was crazy about them. She was one of those ladies who would have had fifty cats had my Dad let her."

Still cradling Salazar, Sandra led him into her study. "But she had a flock of kids instead." She set the purring ball of fluff in an easy chair, then began pulling out notebooks and departmental catalogs.

Donato bent to rub the M-striped head. "No, just me. And about ten cats." At her amazed glance, he shrugged. "More or less."

Sandra smirked. "But, usually more, I take it."

"Usually." He grasped the papers she held out. "These are?"

Sandra tapped the top sheet. "Our current grant proposals." One corner of her mouth twitched. "Just so you can find that under-funded faculty member in the shoe-box sized office."

"Ah." Donato eyed the cat, who was washing the tip of a turned-over paw as he perched on the cushions. "Do you think he would mind?"

Sandra favored him with a genuine chuckle. "If you offered him your lap to sit on? Of course not."

Donato lifted the round body carefully. "I stand, or sit, corrected. It's hard to remember one's place in the feline scheme of things."

-o-0-o-

Cape Mesa Vouno  
Santorini, Greece  
Monday, May 4, 1998  
8:51 am

"Not much to look at." Mulder dry comment wafted forth as they stood gazing down at what a placard proclaimed was a Gymnasium, which was also the ruin closest to cliff at the water's edge.

"It was only supposed to be a settlement, not a grand city at the center of an empire." Caroline shaded her gaze with her hand as she looked over at him. "The ruins are actually well explained for those who wish to take self-guided tours."

Max cocked an eyebrow at his wife, then smiled at his stepson, who had looked over worriedly. "We can wander around as long as you like. That Temple of Apollo looks more like the layout for a town house than any holy place."

Scully began trotting back toward the interior. "There's something I'd like to check out here." She tugged her tour book out of her backpack to begin flipping through pages. "Ah, it's about the theater."

Mulder apologized to his parents with a look, then hurried after her. "What, no mosaics, no columns, what could be of interest in this pile of stones?"

She cocked an eyebrow at him, then knelt. "I know, no naked chorus girls. Sorry."

He crossed his arms as Max and Caroline joined them. "A guy can't have everything, now can he?"

The older couple exchanged a furtive glance before the white-haired woman sighed. "I see him now, Max."

Mulder, suddenly alert, looked at her. "See whom, Mom?"

Scully rose. "We didn't bring weapons, Caroline."

Max shook his head. "Nor any means of instant communications."

Mulder looked down at Scully. "I wonder if those rumors of surveillance are about to come to some fruition."

She nodded. "There were certainly enough of them." She shifted until she was behind him, relative to a stout, dark-haired man in grey jeans and a black leather jacket, who was studiously ignoring them while pretending great fascination with the ruins of the Agora. "We don't have much cover here."

"Neither does he." Mulder shrugged. "If Mom and Max take the path on the Perissa side of the ruins, they can get back to a telephone, at least. We'll keep him distracted here."

Scully nodded. "We'll head back to the Peristyle Court, which should keep him from reaching you."

"Dana, Fox." Caroline wanted to caution, but Max took her arm.

"They're right, Line-chen. We'll do more good if we can bring back reinforcements. It's a quick call to the police, if needs be. We've been hearing about this through unofficial channels for several months now."

As some internal argument raged, she looked from her husband to her son. Finally, resolved, she nodded. "If we can lay this to rest, we can enjoy the remainder of your stay here, kinder." The four walked together toward the main path, then Max and Caroline headed to the west, while the partners separated to clamber in and out of the ruins.

-o-0-o-

Northern Division  
San Diego Police Department  
San Diego, California  
Thursday, April 30, 1998  
6:21 am

Arms laden with documents, screens, and his fingerprint briefcase, Jerry Donato staggered through the precinct room doors. It had been a long night, but it had been worth the trouble. His on-and-off teasing of Sandra Miller had told him more about her status as a suspect than a barrage of interrogatory questions ever would. _Now, if __I__ could only convince __my__ sergeant that __I__ h__ave__ the keys to the Wilton case right here - _

"Donato!" Sergeant Martin Johnson was a tall, whip-thin African-American, but he had a bellow like a bass drum. The other officers were clearing a path.

Jerry could see Evans' bulk behind his superior. "Mike, I think I have it!"

His partner peered over the sergeant's head. "What, the best piece of it you've had in years? How long did it take for you to get to the Professor, College Boy?"

Johnson rounded on him. "Evans! That will be all! Now, go cool down in the break room." To the snickers of the men and women at their desks, the older man slunk away. The sergeant put his fists on his hips. "And I think San Diego's Finest had better get busy on their reports! Now!"

The room went deadly quiet.

Johnson turned his attention back to Donato, taking the top four notebooks off the stacks his detective was juggling before he guided him to his office. Once the door had closed, he settled on into his castered chair. "And where were you last night, Senior Detective?"

Donato eased the documents onto the Sergeant's desk. "I was looking into Tom Wilton's current financial situation, cross-checking it against his funding sources, and putting together a fairly detailed account of his life-history." He clicked open the briefcase to pass him a binder-clipped sheaf of paper. "It's all in there, Sir."

Johnson perused the thick-chested man's features. His brown eyes were glassy, yet fever bright, his face flushed. "Donato, how much sleep did you get last night?"

After attempting to straighten his tie, Jerry scrubbed his cheeks with his palms. "About a half an hour, Sir. Does it show?"

One dark eyebrow arched. "How long do you think I've been where I am?"

Jerry collapsed into a chair. "Way longer than I have, Sarge." He looked up at his sergeant. "But, it's in here, Sir, I know it." He pointed to the folders. "The reason Tom Wilton died is right in there."

Johnson moved the papers onto the documents cart by the door, then settled behind his desk. "So, tell me about this professor friend of the deceased."

Donato leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, then relayed the evening's events to Johnson, who scribbled occasionally on a note pad. The detective was babbling now. "We were comparing the banking records Judy Wilton provided us with the stock transactions, when it hit us, that Wilton was selling just at the right time to maximize his profits, but his earnings weren't being recycled into any more stock, or showing up in his and Judy's joint bank accounts." He spread his hands and slumped against the metal back of the chair. "Sandra could track the grant money they were receiving, and it was more even than that. Now, the deceased's wife had mentioned that her Mother had given them the house, so it may be that these were family gifts that I should check with her about, but - "

Johnson interrupted the stream with a upraised hand. "Very well, Detective. You've put together a good preliminary case."

Donato frowned. "Thank you, Sir."

The African-American rose, walked around his desk, leaned against it, then crossed his arms. "But, tell me, why didn't you see fit to let your partner in on all this, rather than discussing the matter with the person who could, very well, be our most likely suspect?"

Donato leaned forward to press his fingertips against his eyebrows. His head, which had been so clear just a few minutes earlier, was pounding incessantly. "Sir, I had spoken with Detective Evans after interviewing Doctor Wilton's students. He and I had agreed that he would check on the investigation at this end, and meet again in the morning. Once I saw the completeness of the records Doctor Miller had in her possession, I wanted to review them immediately."

Johnson bent over him. "And it helped that Doctor Miller was, who she was, I suppose?"

Donato squinted up at his sergeant. One eye was stubbornly refusing to focus, giving the tall man a fuzzy brown halo. "Sir?"

Johnson rested one hand on his shoulder. "Evans gave me a description of Doctor Miller, Detective Donato. I know who she looked like. Even Evans, with his astounding lack of deductive capabilities, took less than five minutes here in this office to figure out who she looked like."

"Oh." Jerry crossed his arms over his stomach, which had taken to gurgling painfully. "I thought, on some level, that Sandra was Maria?"

Johnson nodded, then stepped over to the door. His hand on the knob, he looked down at Donato. "Do you have any idea why I paired you two together, Jerry?"

Donato gulped. If his sergeant was using his first name, it must be, well, he didn't want to think what it must be. "You wanted me to move on."

Johnson disengaged the latch, but kept the door closed. "Part of you never moves on after losing a partner, Jerry. In a way, I misjudged the situation. You and Maria were utter opposites, different as night and day, but your work together was exceptional. I thought, if you had someone else with complementary skills-"

Donato snorted at the thought.

"-You two would work out as well. But, I can see it hasn't, has it?"

Jerry closed the non-focusing eye before he met Johnson's downward gaze. "Oh? What was your first clue, Sir?" He held up both hands, surprised that they were trembling. "Sorry, Sarge. No sleep."

Johnson shook his head. "Put it out of your mind, Detective. A real partner would never have said what Evans did out there, unless it was meant in good fun. I'll be assigning him elsewhere until this case is concluded."

Donato pushed off the sides of the chair to stand. "And then, Sir?"

"We'll see." Johnson waved two other officers over. "You can come back in after you've had six hours sleep, no less. Evans' last duty, for the present as your partner, will be to drive you home, as long as he keeps his mouth shut. Is that agreeable with you, Detective Donato?"

Jerry watched as two uniformed officers rolled the stacks of paper away. Their outlines were unnaturally clear and sharp, with an odd edge to their voices. "Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir." He weaved slightly as he headed out to the vehicle lot, then Johnson made his way to the Detectives break room.

-o-0-o-

Cape Mesa Vouno,  
Santorini, Greece  
Monday, May 4, 1998  
9:03 am

Scully crouched behind what low cover she could find, an information placard detailing the partially exposed ruins beside her. The situation here was utterly different from the man who had tailed them in Athens. The shape-shifter had confronted them fearlessly, but this shadow seemed almost timid, hesitant rather than determined. Mulder, she knew, had flattened himself on the other side of the path from her.

The man they were tracking looked up from his study of the stones to exclaim incoherently. He must just now have realized that Caroline and Max were gone, since he began hurrying toward the seaward cliffs. He studied his surroundings worriedly, then with a sigh, continued downward. Once he passed between the agents, Scully lifted her head enough to catch her partner's nod. He would crawl after their suspect, since he could cover more ground than she.

All their silent plans fell aside, however, when the man stumbled on a loose stone. Mulder threw himself onto the path and tackled their target. "Federal Officer!" He twisted one arm behind the man's back.

"What are you doing?" Their quarry huffed as he struggled to look over his shoulder. "I'm just a tourist here! Who are you? Why are you doing this?"

"Oh?" Scully shrugged off her backpack. "Then why were you deliberately staying out of sight?"

"What?" The man glared, one-eyed, first at Mulder, then at his partner. "I'm taking a vacation. This is the first real one I've had in years. Do you have any idea how long I've saved for this?"

The partners exchanged a glance.

Scully finished unclipping the waist strap from her pack, but paused before fastening it around their captive's wrists. "The you wouldn't mind producing your passport for us?"

He shook his head. "Of course not. Just let go of me."

Mulder released him and stepped back. "If you're who you say you are, then please accept our apologies, Sir. We've had problems here on Santorini recently."

"I'd say you still do. It's Thera, by the by." Their suspect held out a blue folder. "You see?"

Mulder looked down at his partner. "What's he saying, Scully?"

Scully sighed as she turned over green pages. "This all looks to be in order, Sir." She handed back the passport. "He's right, Mulder. The tourist boards call it Santorini, but the residents prefer Thera." She turned to the man. "Sir? Mister Benner? Are you all right?"

The man had fallen to his knees, coughing. "My asthma." He was flailing at his pants pocket.

Scully reached in to retrieve an inhaler, then felt Benner's pulse. "Sir? Just breath deeply, Sir. You're in no danger from us."

He attempted to glare over the plastic, but contented himself with shaking his head. When he could breathe normally, he straightened up. "I came here because the air is supposed to be good for people with respiratory problems. My doctor told me so. He also warned me that I need to reduce stress. He didn't count on something like this, I'm certain."

The agents each took an arm to help him to his feet. "Once again, our apologies, Sir." Scully met his gaze.

"Whom do you work for? Whom?" Benner snarled at the partners in turn. "I plan on reporting this to your superiors."

Sheepishly, Mulder held his badge aloft.

"The Bureau!" The stocky man shook his head. "When did they start training thugs! I never!" He smoothed down his clothes. As the agents watched, he stalked off haughtily.

Scully sighed. "We've become too used to seeing conspiracies everywhere, Mulder."

Her partner bit his lower lip. "You're sure about that asthma, Scully?"

She nodded. "There were all the symptoms: apnea, arrhythmia, pallid complexion. Those all couldn't be faked."

He shrugged. "Well, he's moving pretty fast for a man who just had an asthma attack, wouldn't you say?"

Benner had broken into a slow jog.

She shaded her eyes with her hand. "After what just happened, I'd want to get as far away from us as possible, wouldn't *you* say? He may not be the one, but there's someone here on the island arousing suspicions. I think it's time we got back to Max and Caroline."

"I suppose." He looked down at her. "Scully? Why are your hands shaking?"

She crossed her arms hastily. "Ooh."

He had an arm around her back. "You okay?"

She shook her head. "I don't know."

He bent over her protectively. "I think we've seen all we need here today."

The ease with which she let herself be led away would set his own pulse racing, she knew, but a sudden queasiness had settled on her, and she wanted nothing more than to sleep. Yet she felt as she did after a long meeting when she had drunk too much coffee, fidgety, but drained, not the relaxed somnolence following a good session on the blades. As they walked, she tried to work out exactly why she was feeling as she did, but could find no answer, other than one she had hoped never to need to consider.

-o-0-o-

Karl Strauss Brewery and Grill  
La Jolla, California  
Tuesday, May 5, 1998  
11:51 am

Andrea Rosen chuckled as she followed the host along the walkway to the deck around the restaurant. She'd have to remember not to let Nic pick the places where they would meet to discuss the latest from the world of the Bureau, or she's spend the rest of her days sitting among copper tubs and stainless-steel tubing.

Once they reached the bend in the walkway, she spotted Phil Nichols facing her, one drained pint glass in front of his plate, with a second, foam trailing in a lacy sheen down half of it, in his hand. "Ros! Over here!"

The host moved back. "Obviously, you've been expected." He bowed slightly, then began stepping away. "Your server will be with you shortly."

She barely glanced at him, but his undertone suggested he thought there was more going on here than met his eye. She wondered what the small Latino would think if he knew he was right, but for reasons other than the ones he was obviously considering. She made her way to the table. "This seat taken, stranger?"

His mustache twitched. "Of course not. How have you been, Ros?"

She settled in with a grin. "Good. Work, well, it's a dream. Having your own funding and first priority on telescope time, man, the plans I have."

He leaned toward her. "I'll bet, Professor."

Ignoring his tease, she flipped through the menu, then looked up at the hovering waiter. "I'll have the Caesar salad, please. With anchovies."

After he ordered, Nichols pressed further. "All that dairy and salt will ruin your training, won't it?"

She shook her head. "Nah. After a triathlon, I put weight on however I can. Cary's on one of those no-fat, no dairy kicks she goes through. If I eat something I shouldn't, well, - "

"It won't be there for very long." He sipped the amber ale. "Ah, to be young again. I don't know if I had a chance to congratulate you on your win last weekend."

She grinned. "Or I to thank you for being part of my support team. I never expected to do so well against runners who were used to these mountains." Sipping her mineral water, she wondered if there was a deeper reason for all the small talk, or whether her former partner was just lonely. "But, that's not why we're here, is it?"

He sighed. "So, how's Cary adjusting?"

She narrowed her hazel eyes at his dodge. "Curtains, right now."

He leaned back. "What? I thought she agreed to have your place professionally done?"

Andrea fiddled with her napkin. "Oh, that would have been easier. But, she likes to see to these details herself. So, all I hear is Cape Cod this, what color should the lace inner liner be, how high should she fluff the balloon valances. I swear, I never knew there was so much involved in hanging a piece of cloth in front of a few panes of glass."

He laughed out loud. "The joys of domesticity. Alicia would do that every so often, only her kick was wallpaper. I will *never* put that up on another bathroom wall again as long as I live." He tapped his finger on the table. "Don't let Cary get started on wallpaper. It's not worth the trouble."

She pointed at his beer. "You brewing yet? Or just drinking your dinner here?"

"Ros!" He tipped the rim of the glass toward her. "This beer is meant to be savored. I came here an hour ago just so I could sample their recipes. And, yes, I am. My dining room's doubling as a fermentation chamber right now. I have a big kitchen so I eat in there."

She leaned back as the waiter deposited her salad, then nodded through the seemingly mandatory dispensation of ground black pepper. Once the blond man had departed, she looked over. "So, what do Jane and Liz think when they stop by?"

He regarded his field greens cautiously. "Kids today. Liz just sits in the corner and tip tip tips away at the laptop her uncle bought her. Jane brings me pamphlets on the dangers of intoxicating substances. Like I need a lecture on *that*."

Before his years undercover doing drug interdiction could claim him, she leaned forward. "Well, at least she wants to keep her dear old Dad around for a while."

He smiled wanly, then patted the foam off his mustache. "Yeah. I guess so. And they're doing really, really well with adjusting to the move. Both of 'em making all A's in their classes." He waited for his plate of fish tacos to descend in front of him. "Great kids. Couldn't be prouder."

She nodded at his customary benediction on his broken family. Perhaps now they could get down to business. "So, why the sudden meeting?"

He glanced around at the other tables, all of which, Rosen suddenly realized, were empty. Perhaps this was why he had been so voluble. "I had a call from Mulder. He's had me put two agents on his sister."

She rubbed her narrow chin. "That's probably wise. She comes and goes almost on a whim. Did he say why?"

A shrug. "Just that he and Scully will be in Santorini a little longer than they expected." His cheeks sagged into a somber mask. "He wants her to take more time off and rest."

The brunette leaned back, scraping her thumbnail over her forefinger. Noting the nervous gesture, she clasped her hands together in her lap.

The balding Montanan smoothed his mustache. "I see Cary's working on you about that. Good."

She shook her head. "Well, I'm glad Mulder's finally made Scully see reason. She looked horrible when we spoke before I left to come out here."

Nichols chewed his salmon thoughtfully. "That's what happens with long-time partners. I'm sure no one would be surprised that it was true of Mulder, but, as for Scully, let's hope no one tries to break them up, ever. I'm not certain how long either of them would last on their own."

The brunette nodded. "But, even *that's* not why you wanted to see me, is it?"

"No. No, it wasn't." The blond ASAC began wiping his fingers by pinching the cloth napkin. "There's a new investigation that our office has been assigned. A law firm here in San Diego that makes too much, spends too much, and has tripped the suspicions of the Banking Division back in DC."

She leaned forward. "Skinner didn't put you onto it?"

He sighed. "No, although Walt called specifically to agree that the case be forwarded to us. I just have a funny feeling about it, that's all."

She speared a crouton. "Why? Lots of law firms are filthy rich and waste money like paper napkins. What makes this one different?" She hoped it wasn't his usual disdain for his former brother-in-law's profession talking.

"Too much of their wealth is going overseas." He eyed her, waiting.

She set her fork down to cross her arms. "You mean, to the Pacific Rim? To Singapore?" She let the dark associations they both feared remain unspoken.

He shook his head. "No, try the Mediterranean. Santorini in specific. I tried to bring it up with Mulder, but he was more worried about Scully than I've ever heard him. So, I'm putting the rest of my agents on it."

She resumed eating. "Well, there's very little that we end up investigating which doesn't tie back to them, so, keep me informed, if you would."

He arched both brows, then nodded. "Anyway, tell me more about these curtains."

Andrea turned her head slightly to see that the host was leading another couple up the walk. Since there was more than a hint of longing in his voice, she settled back to begin regaling him with the, to her, completely irrelevant details of her now-comfortable domestic life.

-o-0-o-

Lowenberg Residence  
Atlantis, Athinios City  
Santorini, Greece  
Tuesday, May 5, 1998  
11:32 pm

Mulder muted the sound on the television. The soft shuffle he heard was one as familiar to him as any comforting evening noise, the gait of his partner, as she approached the living room over the carpet of the hall. But it was not the even quick rhythm of her usual step. Instead, it dragged on the off-beat, her right foot, he realized, lagging behind her left, which had been valiantly attempting to carry on, as usual. He refrained from staring at the entranceway as he waited for her arrival.

"Mulder?"

He leaned forward from his slouch. "Yeah, Scully?"

She gripped the wood trim uneasily. "May I speak with you?"

The excessive formality had him dropping his bare feet to the floor. "Of course." He patted the tan sofa cushion beside him. He had a good idea as to what was on her mind, but it needed to emerge on its own, without his leaping ahead, as he would have were they on a case.

She attempted to settle in her usual stiff-backed pose on the edge of the couch, but a visible flinch on her right side drove her against the upright cushions. "I'm sorry for earlier."

Mulder grasped her shoulder, but said nothing. Her hair was still wet from her bath, but uncombed. He could glimpse the handle of her brush sticking out of her bathrobe pocket.

"I don't quite know how to say this, but there's something wrong with me." With a grimace, she held out her right hand, which was still trembling. "I don't know what this is." She crossed her arms, then dropped her fingers into her lap.

He shook his head before smiling gently at her. "Let me play doctor for you." He arched an eyebrow, but she could barely muster a flutter of her lips. "It's okay. We've seen far more than either of us expected to find in a very short time. I understand that you want to try to prepare for anything that may come, especially now. But don't push yourself too hard too soon, Scully."

She studied her hands for a long moment before looking over at him. "I should know myself better than that. I should know *you* better than that. I'm almost ashamed to say this, Mulder, but..." Her gaze dropped to her hands again, which were clenched together tightly.

Mulder released a soft sigh, wondering why it was so hard for her to ask for what she so clearly needed. He lowered his hand to cover hers. "Don't be. Just tell me."

She gripped his fingers between her palms as if he had just pulled her back from a dark precipice. "Mulder?" She looked over at him.

Which, he supposed, he just had. A nod, then he waited.

"I need some more time." She was rubbing the back of his hand with her palm. "I know that now. I knew it before, but I wasn't willing to admit it. I'm just-" She shrugged. "-more tired than I thought. All the napping, all *that*." She waved in the vague direction of their morning's excursion. "I'm sorry." Her gaze skittered across the floor, the walls, then landed on the television.

The dark-haired man could contain himself no longer. "Scully, you had a building dropped on you, then you came out here and chased aliens through the desert." After placing a hand on the cloth stretched across his chest, he leaned into her face. "Now, I was thrilled you were there, collecting enough evidence to take to the Supreme Court, but you didn't need the extra physical battering of a rocket launch and a plane crash." He draped an arm over her shoulder, the terry cloth feeling lush and soft against his skin, which was bare beyond the bunched-up undershirt sleeve. "Besides, we're on vacation, right?" He felt a moment's hesitation, then she leaned against his support. He dropped the remote to use both arms to fold her against him. "Max has all these *extra* channels, you see."

"What, the all-Godzilla station?"

Mulder rubbed her shoulder, forcing himself not to comment on the sharp angles he felt, even through the thick fabric of her robe. "Yeah." Leaving the black wand on the cushion, he punched the elongated channel button repeatedly. "And, if I remember right." He frowned as the screen blinked. "Yeah. There. 'Fortunes of War.'" He looked down at her. "You up for that?"

She chuckled. "Sure. But, the real question is, are you?"

He bent close to her ear. "For as long as you need, we'll stay."

She nodded against his shoulder. "Thanks. I'll try not to put you out for too long."

"Not a problem. Trust me." He heard a rumble, then she straightened to work on her hair in silence. Any other time, he would have enjoyed a quiet evening like this in her company. But he felt unsettled, as if the storm were approaching, not that it was behind them. He knew his earlier comment to his stepfather was correct. There were more issues to be addressed between them than they had been able to settle in Athens, or here.

-o-0-o-

End - Anath - Durga


	2. Baal-Hadaad

=====o================================================o=====

_Anath_ by Mary Ruth Keller

Part II - _Baal-Hadaad_

=====o================================================o=====

Akrotiri Ruins  
Santorini, Greece  
Wednesday, May 6, 1998  
10:07 am

Scully smoothed her hair, which had been tangled from the bay-side trip in the open air. She and Mulder had curled into the back seat of Max's other convertible, an Alfa-Romeo. Or, rather, she had curled. Mulder had spent the short ride with his knees under his chin, taking the excuse of needing the leverage to sprawl his arm behind her. Caroline had apologized profusely, but her partner was in his mood Scully liked to think of as carefree teenager.

Which was a striking contrast to her own, but not because she was depressed or unhappy with their situation. She was simply, as she had concluded yesterday, exhausted. She had no better way to explain what had happened when they had attempted to vanquish their suspect, which had only served to reinforce Mulder's conviction that she needed a longer vacation than a week or two. The fatigue left her completely void of emotions, but unable to concentrate on anything for more than a few minutes at a time, which worried her. If it were possible to be any more numb, she suspected it would have involved chemicals.

Yet now, they were here. Having flung himself out of the back seat, Mulder was trotting around the trunk when she heard him let out an 'oof,' which had her scrambling free instantly. His next exclamation, "Hey there, big guy!" let her sag against the side of the convertible. She stepped around to see a boy no older than three, his wide blue eyes bulging like balloons, sitting on her partner's stomach as if he were a cowboy on a very recalcitrant horse.

"I'm so sorry!" The apology emerged from a harried blonde as she bent to retrieve her son. A boxy plastic toy bag decorated with smiling purple dinosaurs alternating with equally impossible pink and green rainbows slid off one shoulder, then onto the ground. "Rickie! Stop that!"

Only Rickie had more to say on the matter, so he crossed his arms as he scowled childishly at his mother. "But, he's a dangerous alien, Mom! I got-ta *scoot* him." With that, he lifted his plastic ray gun to press the tip against Mulder's nose as he emitted high-pitched buzzing sounds.

The agent chose to surrender without a fight. "Agh!" He feigned terror. "I'm melting. You got me, Captain Kirk."

The child scrambled off the dark-haired man's chest. "Eew, not Kirk. I wan-na be the bald one. With the ears! Mom!" That last was spoken as he was tucked under his mother's right arm, while her left hand clutched at the bag.

"I'm so sorry." She hurried her charge away.

But Scully spotted a stuffed flannel horse, fallen in the conflict. She was surprised to feel a twinge of remorse as she wondered if John-John had a similar one. She trotted after the woman. A man in a black leather jacket and dark jeans had stepped in line behind the pair, so Scully tapped him on the shoulder. "Excuse me." She held up the toy by way of apology.

The man looked down at her hand to glare at the horse, then growled in her face. "And you are?"

Scully began to feel uncomfortable under his scrutiny. "Excuse me." She found she was assuming the forceful timbre she used on prevaricating suspects.

He yielded to her grudgingly, but the mother and child had moved on, so the agent began trotting to catch up with them. Scully was frowning at the man's unusual behavior when she arrived at the woman's side. "You dropped this." She waited while the blonde took the toy without comment.

By the time she had returned to her partner's side, he was on his feet. "You okay, Mulder?"

Caroline and Max laughed at his theatrical grimace.

"Sure, Scully. Have my *alien* brains zapped on a daily basis. Some partner you turned out to be." His generous lips quirked as he tucked her fingers over his arm, then the four turned to enter the subterranean ruins.

"Looks like we've found Atlantis, Mulder." She pointed to the tour guide.

"Ha, ha, Doctor." Neither of them paid attention to the man in grey and black still tagging along at the back of the group that was assembling.

-o-0-o-

When Scully touched his wrist, Mulder straightened from his hunch over one of the few in-situ amphorae remaining. He sent her a lop-sided grin as she pointed to the black-haired guide, who was gathering a little group around her. "Didn't think I was paying attention, did you?"

After she led him up the ramp to the tourist overlook, she tossed her head. "No, I thought you'd finally found that entrance to the underworld." She pressed back against him as the woman with the child stepped in front of the assembled visitors.

The tour guide was explaining as she pointed over the railing to a red clay circle. "And that is a remnant of the plumbing system laid down for the city. Just like the Minoans at Knossos, these houses were kept clean and fresh-smelling in a manner that London wouldn't be until the early Twentieth Century."

The dark-haired agent bent over his partner. "She's not counting the Romans."

Scully stretched up to respond. "A true sign of civilization."

Conscious of the glances around them, he dropped his face to within millimeters of her ear to quip voicelessly. "Or of the importance of women in the society."

As she nodded, the black-haired guide stared over at them. "I'm sorry, did you have a question?"

The agents shook their heads.

The small woman pointed along the balcony to the exit with bright light streaming through it. "Stay and feel free to explore the ruins. Just don't go into any of the active excavation areas, which are clearly marked. The archaeologists have work to do."

Scully tipped her head at her partner. "Shall we?"

He swiveled to check with his mother, who smiled encouragement, then with Max, who held his arm toward the ramp. When Mulder turned back to answer, his sternum met the solid edge of his partner's shoulder.

A quick smile. "Sorry." She moved away slightly.

Mulder shook his head as he pushed her forward gently. "No problem." As they walked, he glanced down at her, tracing, with his eyes, the rigid shoulders and stiff strides that kept her just bare inches in front of his left hip. He wondered when she had begun walking that close to him, then let his thoughts flow backwards through their winding trip among the dusty subterranean ruins. He realized that, despite her usual independence and self-assurance, she had been bumping and brushing against him repeatedly for most of the tour.

With unexpected pleasure, he skimmed his fingertips along her waist at this surprising conclusion that she had been sticking to him like glue. He struggled to place the emotions he felt. Relief, certainly, that she was by his side again, not trapped under a building across a distant ocean. Her constant physical closeness told him, as no words could, that she was taking him up on his offer of support while she recuperated. In the wake of his father's and her sister's deaths, he would never have tendered it, and she would never had accepted it if he had, so wound were each in their own griefs. But, he had changed as well. The self-assurance that had been with him since finding the D'Amato papers remained. It had not, as he had feared, fled during the dark days when he had believed Samantha was dead.

He searched around the group for his mother and stepfather, whom he eventually located at the far side of the group. Caroline had been watching for him, nodding once as his gaze met hers. It occurred to him, then, what he was experiencing. He felt *wanted*, not as the remaining child alternately desperately clutched or flung away, nor, as the ace profiler who could rapidly puzzle his way through the maze of a killer's psyche. Instead, he was a beloved and admired son, a friend whose company was savored. He smiled at his mother, then focused down on the head of the woman in front of him. He was relishing his new-found ease, while at the same time, startled to realized that there were white threads in the ocher crown under his nose.

A slight shift of her shoulders, then two green-blue eyes flicked up to meet his. In the semi-darkness of the tourist overlook, the wide pupils seemed almost liquid, deep and turbulent. Stumbling slightly as they shifted along the overlook into the full glow from a skylight, she caught the railing before Mulder touched her elbow.

"Sorry." She offered the apology voicelessly.

He shook his head again. "Hey." He waited while she faced him. "Is this too..."

Scully set her chin firmly. "No. It's just the light. Let's check these artifacts out." Moving purposely away from him, she trotted to descend ahead of most of the tourists.

Mulder scanned over his shoulder for two white heads. "Mom?"

Caroline, who, with Max, had been behind them both, grasped his arm. "We're right here, Fox." She patted his back. "Keep up with Dana."

Once the younger man had moved away from them, Max bent over his wife's shoulder. "Dana's worried about something."

Caroline nodded. "I hope it isn't what I think it is."

"Hum. We'll have to see." Max offered Caroline his elbow.

"Stop! That's my bag! Help! Rickie! Don't take my son!"

The partners spun toward the voice, now lost in the wail of a toddler. Mulder turned to look up behind them. Scully began to force their way through the confused group with the guide, all hovering around the top landing of the narrow accessway. As she was shouting over her shoulder, she collided with the thin man in dark jeans and a black leather jacket she had run into earlier. She caught a quick glimpse of pink and green rainbows as the plastic contacted her nose before she closed her arms around the bag to yank it free.

"He has my son!" The shout came from in front of her.

Having threaded his way through frightened tourists, some running back up the ramp, some down, Mulder reached over his partner to grasp the toddler under the armpits. Scully dove for the man's waist. The would-be kidnapper, desperate to keep his balance, released the child to flail his arms wildly. Mulder pulled the boy close, regretting his decision as two short limbs snapped tightly around his neck, then blinked involuntarily as a flannel horse slapped heavily against his cheek.

"Rickie, Rickie, you're okay." He was gasping as he stepped away from his partner and the erstwhile kidnapper. The two were struggling at the edge of the ramp, the auburn-haired agent with her legs locked around the man's.

"I'm an officer of the Law, cease resisting arrest, Sir!" The only answer Scully received was a palm in her face, so she grasped the arm, attempting to twist it behind the man's back.

The child was wailing helplessly now, despite Mulder's repeated reassurances. He sank to his knees, rocking the boy as he sobbed. "It's okay, Rickie, it's all over now." He found himself reduced to patting the small back in silence.

A shout from one of the tourists brought Mulder's attention back to his partner. Locked in a tangle of limbs with the assailant, she was rolling down the now-empty ramp, grunting as her torso contacted edges and stones. In his gathering horror, her descent slowed in his mind into some silent, macabre ballet, Scully wrapped around a man almost as short as she. He watched her hip contact the corner of a riser, then heard her grunt as the full weight of the kidnapper slammed her down harder. The ramp was flexing under the impacts, sending some of the group out the entrance in a flat run. The resilient wood impelled the pair further down the walkway's length, Scully's right shoulder landing, then sliding them both until they nearly flipped through the uneven rails. Lost in his moments outside time, Mulder wondered if this had been what her struggle with Donnie Phaster had been like. At each twist, each collision, she was always under the dark man, absorbing the shocks into her already-gaunt frame.

He was only vaguely aware of the woman, while offering profuse gratitude, tugging the toddler free of his neck. Finally, one last bounce, that time on his partner's left knee, then Scully and the man landed in the sand of the excavation floor. In a cruel irony, this time she was sprawled on top of him. But she was unmoving, her auburn hair a halo around her temples, covering her quarry's face. The kidnapper twisted free of her ankles, which were locked together around his calves, before he shoved the limp agent off his chest onto the packed dirt of the path. Once disengaged, he pulled himself to his feet, then, after a single upward glance, ran out the entrance to the ruins.

Once Mulder found he could hear and move again, he flung himself down the ramp. He knelt by his partner, his hands fluttering over her still form, calling her name urgently. She began moving as she heard him speaking, so he leaned closer. "I guess I'll have to do all the talking here." A grim smile trembled on his lips. "You always accuse me of that anyway." Since she was in her shorts and polo shirt, he could scan her arms and legs quickly, cataloging the cuts and bruises there. "Scully, don't take this the wrong way, but I need..." He slid the tail of her shirt free to track his hand over her spine and ribs. "You feel okay back here, but, then, I'm not the Doctor." He gingerly ran his fingers through her curls, relieved that no blood seeped from the back of her skull. "Nothing wrong with that marvelous brain of yours, is there, partner? You'd tell me, right?" His attempt at humor was met with a moan.

He sat back on his heels for a moment to search for more damage. "Anytime you want to help me out, great, Scully." One of her hands was tucked up under her body, the other extended toward the departed man, but none of the limbs were cocked at unnatural angles. He let out a shaky sigh as he rolled her carefully onto her back. A quick survey, then he bent down to her ear. "The front of you looks good, too, Doctor, but then, it always has." He turned his attention to her head, where he could see a darkening spot on one cheek. "Scully, talk to me." There was no response, so he grasped her shoulder. "Scully, I'm here. Talk to me." He began probing her ribs gently. "Please?"

"Oh..." She twisted away from his fingers.

His attention snapped back her face. "Scully?"

She was blinking up at him. "Mulder?" With a sudden jerk, she sat up to stare into the shadows for their suspect. "Where?" She made a hoarse gagging sound, then dropped her head to her knees, her hands on her temples. "Too fast."

Mulder wrapped his arms around her, clutching legs and torso in one anxious embrace. "It's okay, Scully. The kid's safe. Where do you hurt?"

She took a quick inventory. "I can sit up and wiggle my toes, so I don't think there's damage to my spine." She relaxed against his support. "It's mainly my head. My sides ache, but not like the ribs would if they were broken. I couldn't forget how that felt even if I were abducted again." She flexed her spine. "Ow. Make that most of me aches."

The dark-haired agent had released her to massage her neck carefully. "That hurts too?"

"Just stiff." She crossed her arms over her stomach. "I suspect most of me will stiffen up here soon." She eased herself down onto her side. "This feels better."

"Mulder, let me call for some help." Max had made his way down the stairs to stand behind his stepson. "Athens is only an hour away."

The agent nodded, but said nothing, all his attention focused on the woman in front of him.

-o-0-o-

along Scholar's Drive South  
University of California at San Diego  
San Diego, California  
Friday, May 1, 1998  
10:46 am

Jerry Donato's fingers drummed nervously on the steering wheel. Visiting a campus, any campus, brought up old memories, old fears, and old triumphs. College would, forever in his mind, be associated with final exams and endless review.

He glanced at the map on the passenger seat. According to the records provided by the registrar, Sandra's class would be finishing about now. Although, if she were still catching up for the missed two days of lectures, she might not be through for quite some time.

After parking, he trotted up the hill to a grey, flat building. Through the wide banks of windows, he spotted a student gazing out at him as intently as he was checking inside. Then he caught a glimpse of the professor, so knew he had the right building. He had taken an introductory fluid dynamics class as a science elective, more as a lark than to fill any gaps in his education. Now, it looked to have come in handy. He reached for the door.

Once inside, he was almost convinced that if he concentrated, he could hear Sandra's voice in the quiet. "...radial pressure gradient is balanced by the Coriolis force associated with azimuthal motion." That *was* she, he realized as he moved silently across the marble-floored entrance hall. "The axially oriented pump moves water out of the apparatus and provides the relative flow between the body of the fluid and an obstacle fixed in the tank." Jerry eased himself into the seat closest to the open classroom door.

A hand shot up which he recognized as belonging to the student he had seen daydreaming earlier. "But what is the 'relative flow?'" The man sounded peeved, a tone Jerry found all too familiar.

Sandra's long curls had fallen over her shoulders as she paced. "The specifics of a problem arise from each individual case. If we're discussing pilings in a bridge or pier, built at a bend in a river, then the relative flow is on either side of that piling, although, for the most part, currents in a river at shallow depths are slow but turbulent, rather than laminar." She turned to draw a cross-section on the board. "This would be an idealized case, you must understand, one that neglects the effects of particulate suspensions in the water itself."

The student spluttered as he continued to feign confusion. Jerry snorted at the obvious ploy.

With more patience than he had been willing to credit her for, Sandra held up her hand. "Dave, that's all we have time to cover today. Read carefully pages 219 through 226 in Tritton and stop by during my office hours." She rested a stub of white chalk in the tray, then began distributing packets of paper. "Lee, Chan, Philpot, Ramakandran..." Once the assignments were returned, she paused by the door to the room. "As usual, you can consult with each other freely about this final homework assignment, which is stapled to the back of those I just returned to you. But, please, write up your own answers." As the students filed out, she smiled warmly down at the thick-chested detective.

"He wasn't paying attention earlier, you know." Jerry waited to comment until the room had cleared.

She sighed. "I'm very aware of that. But rotating fluids are difficult to develop an intuition to understand. There are others who were confused as well. I don't blame them, at all. Fluid dynamics is like no other physical science, neither physics nor applied math, but some often overwhelming combination of the two."

Donato climbed to his feet. "I know. I wish my class had a decent text."

Her hazel eyes sparkled. "Oh? Whom did you have?"

He pursed his lips. "Batchelor. Very complicated, very tedious, and nearly impossible to understand."

She bit her lower lip momentarily. "That's an introductory graduate level text, usually. If I might be so bold?"

He shrugged. "I took it as a senior science elective. I thought I could learn something about waves." His arm flapped in a vague approximation of the topic at hand. "You know, the ocean?"

She smiled. "I do indeed. But instead, you ended up learning about boundary layers and potential vorticity, I'll bet." She began walking down to the front of the classroom. "Detective." Her eyes still bright, she checked back over her shoulder to make certain he was following along. "You obviously didn't stop by to talk about your sojourn in the hallowed halls of academe. You have more questions for me?"

Jerry studied her slender back as they moved. Whatever this woman was, her forthright directness was bound to make even the least insecure man ill-at-ease. But, for him, it was a blessed breath of fresh air.

"Detective?" Having collected her papers, she was ready to leave.

Jerry nodded. "Yes. Yes, I do have more questions for you. I need more information on your funding situation, yours and Tom's."

She waved him ahead of her. "Then, please, come to my office. I keep my records there, not, in a non-existent eidetic memory, like Tom claims to have." She concluded with a lop-sided grin, followed by a tap of her temple.

After a quick glance at the woman beside him, he extended a hand. "May I?"

She chuckled, as deep and throaty as he hoped her full laugh would turn out to be. "Carry the professor's books?" She shook her head. "It wouldn't be right to play favorites, now would it?" She pointed to the stairwell. "We're up three flights."

Jerry nodded. "You *are* tenured, aren't you?"

She smiled. "Yes, I am. So, you're wondering, why am I still teaching introductory-level classes?" She stuck out her slight chin. "It's important that beginning students learn from those who have mastered a discipline, not from the graduate students who may still be struggling with specific topics. That way poor thinking about the subject is corrected early, rather than late." Her forehead crinkled. "Before I was tenured, I didn't teach much at all. I fought off all the excess load they wanted to drop on me so I could publish enough, and then some." She slanted her eyes at him. "Now that they're stuck with me and I have my own secured funding, I'll teach. There's nothing the Administration can do about it."

He held the stairwell door for her. "Odd that what we expected as students is considered an academic idiosyncrasy." He watched her pass, wondering how much else she responded to with acts of defiance.

While passing the second level, Sandra jiggled her keys out of her pocket. "This way, Detective. I don't have a secretary. Please pardon the mess."

Once they were in her office, Donato flipped a hand at the unstable stacks. "No problem."

Sandra dropped her notes on the floor, then collapsed into her tall desk chair to gesture vaguely to the stool by the door. "Sorry. My other chair is in Tom's office under three weeks of newspapers, no doubt."

Jerry propped himself against a wall. "I was concerned about your overhead expenses, Doctor Miller."

She rested one elbow on the desk as she dug in one of the stacks. "Oh?"

He waved a hand. "Not so much yours, but Doctor Wilton's. Three hundred percent above student costs?"

Ignoring the papers cascading to the floor, she pulled loose a green cloth ledger book to flap at him triumphantly. "I realize that it sounds high, but we have to deal with those messy realities of modern university life, unfortunately. One of them is that successful programs become riders for the department head to tack on the students of less, shall we say, fortunate colleagues." She flipped through pages. "Ah! Here." She waved him into the seat. "You see this?" Her hair falling onto his back as she bent over, she pointed, then turned to a different part of the book. "We keep two sets of records, Tom and I, because it makes us so angry. The first details the expenses, which, according to the administration, we're supposed to inform our sponsors of. The second is for us, telling us what we've actually been able to accomplish, funding-wise, and what we haven't." She stepped away from the desk. "Check through them both. I have to clean up this mess."

He grunted. "Not because I'm here."

She shrugged. "I'm really a very neat person. Not like your typical academic." She began collecting the papers off the floor.

Donato rested his note pad beside the book, then began scribbling figures at odd angles on the lined pages. They continued in silence, he reading while she filed. When he looked up, the assembled stacks of documents were missing. "Doctor Miller?"

"Sorry." She pulled her head out of a small cabinet, a grey smudge marking her forehead. "Tom's a worse pack-rat than I am. We were working on a grant proposal just last weekend, but this is my first chance to clear things away." Frowning, she rubbed at the mark, succeeding only in turning most of her face dark.

Jerry leaned back in the chair. "Do you have the keys for Doctor Wilton's office?"

She jingled her bulging ring at him. "Let's go. Although, I'm warning you, we might need to bring Judy in to wade through it all. Tom loved to collect information, but once he had looked at it, he just tossed it aside and moved on. Things just lie where they fall until something new lands on top." She led him down the hall, stopping in front of a door with Wilton's full name and title on the top line, the numbers 4326 underneath.

"But their home was neat as a pin, even his office."

Sandra shook her head. "You're right, that is odd. Judy went through a succession of maids before she found a service which would clean to her satisfaction, but Tom's home office was usually only slightly better than it is here. With the accident, then his death, I didn't really notice." She slipped the key in the lock, but before she opened the door, she leaned against it to shove.

Donato took a step back as papers spilled out onto the floor. "Doctor Miller, I was assuming you were exaggerating, but this..." He waved his hand at the heaps. "You're telling me there's a desk in there?"

Climbing over the piles, she thunked the toe of her walking shoe against something solid. "Good Eastern Oak. He had it built custom to accommodate his knees. When we get to it, you'll see. He had developed arthritis in them prematurely, so there's a shelf under the top for him to rest his feet on when he needs his legs out straight. I keep telling him he needs to see a specialist. Oh." She covered her mouth with her hand.

Donato watched her face darken. "Sandra, it's all right if you need a moment."

Her jaw flexed. "No. We need to do this as soon as possible." Stepping unerringly over the clutter, she reached for a phone. "I hate to bother Judy, with the arrangements and all, so let me try Jeannette. This is usually her day off, but..." She tapped out a sequence of numbers, then chatted briefly with the woman at the other end of the line. Once she was finished, she turned to Jerry, who was cautiously moving a stack of reprints. "She's only a quarter of a mile away, so she can be here in fifteen minutes."

The detective frowned at the accumulated mess. "I don't see how anyone could work like this." He stuck his hands in his pockets. "Fifteen minutes, you say?" He watched her nod. "Then is there a faculty lounge where I can buy some coffee?"

She pointed down the hall. "It'll be a long afternoon, so let me show you the way."

-o-0-o-

Athens Hospital  
Athens, Greece  
Wednesday, May 6, 1998  
3:29 pm

Dana Scully twisted against cocooning warmth, forcing her mind to place the faint sounds she heard around her. It wasn't like it had been before. Then, she remembered some deep rumble and much vibration. She had pulled herself awake, a fraction of a second later, she had thought, to find she was clutched in her partner's arms, he soothing her, offering her water. Only the air had been chilled and dry, so she had drained the Styrofoam cup eagerly; her thighs had been cold against hard plastic, so she had shifted closer to him. Moments earlier, it seemed, she had been lying in the dust at Akrotiri, Mulder irritating her awake with a stream of his half-joking comments. In the instant before that, she had been struggling to subdue... She coughed once, then reached out to clutch at empty air even before opening her eyes.

"Dana. Dana!" Max leaned forward to grasp her flailing hands firmly. "Dana, can you hear me?"

She shifted on the thin hospital mattress. "Of course." She blinked down at him. "Max?"

He released her, then settled into the metal chair. "You're back in Athens, Dana. We checked you into a hospital here."

She brought her hand to the bruise on her cheek. "Who was that kidnapper? He wasn't the same man we found at Thira. Mulder said the boy is safe?"

Max nodded. "As far as I know. His mother took him back from Mulder." Leaning forward, he sighed. "But that's not what you should be worrying about right now."

Scully shook her head. "What was he after? A simple purse-snatching I could understand, but, grabbing a child in front of all those - "

"Dana!"

Surprised at the sharp command in his voice, she stared at the white-haired man. "Max?"

"Dana, let it go. You're in Athens Hospital."

She bit her lip for a moment. "What was it, a concussion?"

He sighed. "No, not that. You've been run through a battery of tests, the *first* of which was an MRI. Mulder was very, very insistent on that. He and Caroline are with the doctor right now, hearing the results." Max shifted his chair closer to the bed. "But we wanted to have any question of brain injury cleared up immediately."

Scully took a moment to study the layout of spare quarters in which she found herself. Her eyes widened as she realized there was a single bed, a separate bathroom fully equipped with both shower and tub, with several windows looking out over modern, urban Athens. "You've arranged a private room for me? That must be horrendously expensive, Max. I'm sorry, I don't mean to put you and Caroline out."

The white haired man shook his head. "You aren't."

She pulled herself upright. "Blue Cross will cover a regular room, but not the added expenses of this."

Max stared pointedly out the window.

She began pushing aside the sheets. "He shouldn't touch his inheritance, not for something like this. Once they're finished with the doctor, I'll be fine in a regular room, really, or even at the apartment in Omonia."

The white-haired man grasped her by both shoulders. The sudden twist of his white eyebrows told her he was surprised at how little resistance she offered as he guided her back into the bed. "Dana, have you ever known Mulder to address the issue of your well-being with anything approaching rationality?"

Defeated, she slumped against the pillows. "He shouldn't do this. He needs to go see Sam."

Max slid his chair closer to her head. "He told me about this earlier, but he obviously didn't tell you. What you don't understand, Dana, is that he needs you to be there with him."

Scully stared at the seated man as if he were a three-headed, fire-breathing dragon. "He asked me for that, but it was only in the terror he has following a nightmare. Mulder doesn't need anyone, but Sam." She closed her eyes. "It may be that he only needs to know she's safe and well. Anything else is insignificant." She pulled the sheets and blanket up to her chin before crossing her arms over them. "Anyone else is baggage." She met the older man's gaze. "Mulder's a sleek hunting falcon when it comes to the pursuit of his Truth. I won't be dead weight when he needs to soar free, Max. I couldn't do that to him."

Max stood to cross to the windows. Clasping his hand behind his back, he stared out over the haze. After a long moment, he spoke without looking back at her. "Dana, I'm about to tell you a parable." His white mustache twitched. "I'd like to claim it came from a rabbi in Hungary, but I can't. It's Bahai, you see." He turned his twinkling hazel eyes on her. "It's about men and women in general, but, in this case, I mean it to be more specific."

She stared down at her toes. "Oh."

He advanced on her. "It's about that sleek hunting falcon of yours. It needs two wings to fly, wouldn't you say?"

She narrowed her green-blue eyes at him. "And you're saying Mulder and I are the two wings of the falcon?"

"Yes." He took her hand gently. "That's exactly what I'm saying. A man, or a woman, needs friends as well as family to thrive. He has that with you, Dana."

She shook her head. "Perhaps as a professional bond, Max, but, as a personal one, I don't think so."

"If that's how you feel, you don't know him as well as you think you do." He released her fingers to return to his chair.

"How well can we ever know anyone?" Her mind puzzled over the strange dreams at Fordyce, a year and more behind them as she crossed her arms. "Mulder's not a child; he's a responsible, intelligent, capable officer of the law. But part of him was always in check, held back by the loss of his sister. Now that barrier has been removed. He needs to become the man he has the potential to be." She rested her head against the pillows. "I'm a part of his past. I respect him too much to hold him back as well."

With a nod, he straightened. "Perhaps you and he need to talk about this, before you decide everything yourself."

Frustrated, Scully rubbed the bridge of her nose, but said nothing.

-o-0-o-

Mayer Hall 4326  
University of California at San Diego  
San Diego, California  
Friday, May 1, 1998  
11:36 am

Sandra, Jerry, and Jeanette had arrayed themselves in a loose equilateral triangle among the piles in Tom Wilton's office.

The chestnut-haired professor paused in her sorting of the flotsam in the bottom drawer of the sole filing cabinet she had convinced Tom to acquire. Biting her lip, she remembered all those times she had scolded him for being a horizontal organizer. Her fervent wish that he was still here to shrug off her comments left a twisting pain in her heart. Fiercely reminding herself she had performed intricate experiments, faced down the University Provost over availability of the wind tunnel, and driven one of the emeritus faculty to the emergency room after he fell and broke a leg at last year's commencement, she shunted the emotions aside. This ought not to bother her as much as it did. Lifting out a thick stack of photographs, she settled back on the carpet to leaf through them.

The secretary looked over at the stifled cry. "Doctor Miller?" She was surprised to see the chestnut-haired woman weeping silently. "What is it?"

Sandra chewed on her lower lip. "It's silly. I just found the snapshots of last year's faculty retreat. You were there, Jeanette, remember?" She held out the top photograph.

Donato rose to stand behind the two women. It was important he pay attention here, either to gain the trust of the professor who was leading him through the maze of Tom Wilton's convoluted life, or to bring him closer to... He blinked at the thought. _Closer to what?_ He shook his head. _To the solution of this case._ He focused down on Sandra Miller again.

She had turned to the next image. "Oh, look, there are Tom and Judy." She smiled at the memories. "They look so happy together."

The secretary nodded. "They were always happy together, Sandra. That's more than most of us can say."

Jerry bent down to point. "Who's the man in the corner watching them?"

Sandra pulled the print closer to her nose. "I don't remember. Do you?"

The secretary frowned. "He was invited because he's a representative of the Whittaker Foundation. Poor man. Didn't know anyone and didn't say more than two words." She turned to Sandra. "Did he ever get back to you and Tom about those grants you were discussing?"

A pair of dark eyebrows drew together. "Oh, yes, now I remember. I didn't think he was serious. Why would a pair of Fluid Dynamicists take funding from a drug company? What could we do for them? Study blood flow?"

Jeanette and Donato exchanged a glance, then continued with their excavations.

"Hello?" A querulous voice floated in from the hall.

The secretary looked up. "Judy? You shouldn't be here."

Sandra was beside the blonde in a nimble instant. "Judy?"

A wan smile. "I finally got your message, Sandra. Why are you doing this?"

Jerry Donato made his way around the piles. "I'm afraid it was my request, Ma'am. We were looking into - "

Judy Seymour-Wilton drew herself up to her full five foot four. "You don't have a search warrant!" Her normally cool soprano was screechy, strained. "I want you out of here, now!" She rounded on the secretary. "Jeanette, how *could* you! Tom's been dead for, for..." She bit her lip, then glared at the chestnut-haired professor. "Sandra, I want Tom's office key, *now*." She stuck out her hand, palm up, fingers wide.

"Judy, please, we're just trying to help." Sandra bent over her.

The blonde flexed her jaw.

With reluctance, Sandra nodded, unclipped the key, then dropped it in the supine palm.

"I'm sorry, Professor Seymour-Wilton." The thick-chested detective was dusting off the knees of his pants.

Livid, Judy glared over at him. "You, Detective, your Sergeant will hear from my lawyer. Now, go!" Once the three were outside, she locked the door, then planted herself, arms crossed, outside of it.

Pointedly ignoring the stares from up and down the hall, Jerry hurried to catch up with Sandra and Jeanette, who were waiting for him outside her office. "We won't learn anymore today." The professor sighed wearily.

-o-0-o-

Athens Hospital  
Athens, Greece  
Wednesday, May 6, 1998  
3:51 pm

Mulder and Caroline were seated in a pair of steel and canvas chairs across a metal desk from a tiny man with sparkling eyes. The doctor they were facing was examining several pages of notes in silence, while the dark-haired man fidgeted.

Finally, the agent could stand it no longer. "Well, what's wrong with her? Is it serious? Tell me!" When his mother rested her hand on his wrist, he canted his eyes toward her, but continued to twist in his chair.

The doctor folded his reading glasses, slid them into his coat pocket, then looked from mother to son. "According to the records Doctor Anderson sent me, Miss Scully - "

Mulder leaned forward. "Doctor Scully. That's Doctor Scully. She's an MD with a specialty in forensic pathology."

"Very well." The older man sighed. "Doctor Scully has consistently postponed her semi-annual post-operative check-up since November 1996."

The dark-haired agent frowned. "What? She shouldn't - " He began pacing in the brightly-lit space.

"Fox, come sit down." The firm tone surprised them both.

Mulder stopped, crossed his arms, then set his jaw, but refused to return.

The doctor leaned back in his chair. "Of course, I can see why she did." He leaned toward Caroline. "What do you know about the post-operative complications following a total hysterectomy, Mrs. Lowenberg?"

Caroline straightened. "But Dana didn't have - "

The agent edged between the desk and his Mother. "With her ovaries shutting down, in effect, that's what she's had. Is that what you're attempting to tell us, Doctor Nicholas?"

The older man sighed. "Are there any family members I can talk this over with? I know you're listed as her next of kin in the Living Will she gave Doctor Anderson, but this is rather, ah, delicate."

Propping himself up with both hands, Mulder bent over the wooden surface. "Tell me."

The doctor stood to walk around the desk, but his sleek black hair was only level with the younger man's shoulders. Even so, he stared up at the agent with an easy sense of authority. "You don't make this simple, Mister Mulder. What, exactly, *is* your relationship with my patient? What entitles *you* to know these things?"

Mulder reeled, wondering why he had to continually rehash this subject. Crossing his arms, he glared down at the physician. "We're partners at the FBI. Doctor Scully was, no, *is* working with me on several ongoing cases of a unique and exceptional nature here in Greece. You want to know how I know about her health problems." He bit his lip momentarily. "It's because there are no secrets between us when it comes to matters which would affect our work together." Blinking, he took a step back. "And, truth be told, our work's the reason Scully's here today." He grasped the older man's elbow. "Tell me what we can do, what *I* can do, to help her be well. Please." He dropped his arm to his side.

The Doctor nodded. "Very well, then Mister Mulder, Mrs. Lowenberg." He settled behind the desk. "I'm afraid it's not what you can do, but it's what you must encourage Doctor Scully to do."

"Rest." Caroline nodded.

The dark eyes raised to meet hers. "Yes, for a start. And several weeks of it." Doctor Nicholas slid the folder around, then pushed it across the desk top to tap a number on one of the sheets. "Here are the T-score and the Z-score from her last visit to Doctor Anderson, a year and a half ago." He flipped over to another, nearly identical, page. "These are the numbers we measured with DEXA today." He looked from Caroline to Mulder. "Do you understand what these mean?"

Mulder crossed his arms over his stomach. "Minus 1.5. Osteopenia. That means hormone replacement therapy, doesn't it? We've talked about this possibility often enough that you don't have to explain much more to me." He covered his face with both hands. "You want her to begin immediately, don't you?"

Lifting his reading glasses out of his jacket pocket to set them on his nose, the doctor sighed. "Do I need to spell it out for you?" Shaking his head, he turned the folder so he could read. "August through November 1994, kidnapped by a person or persons unknown, comatose upon return. November 1994, patient checked herself out of hospital against advice of attending physician. January 1995, severe soft tissue trauma from an automobile accident and a fall while apprehending a suspect. April 1995, gunshot wound to the scalp. February 1996, partial hysterectomy, multiple rib fractures, severe soft tissue trauma. Checked herself out of hospital against advice of attending physician."

"But she told me it was safe for her to leave." Mulder issued his protest from behind his fingers.

Caroline turned to face him. "Fox, a hysterectomy is no simple procedure. It involves the removal of major organs. I took months to recover from mine, after I had Samantha."

Dropping his hands, Mulder simply stared at the white-haired woman for a moment. "Mom, I didn't know."

Doctor Nicholas rattled the folder, returning their attention to him. "March 1996, exploratory abdominal surgery. December 1996, hospitalized for exposure and soft tissue trauma resulting from an automotive accident. Again, patient checked herself out against advice of attending physician. January 1997, treated for gunshot wounds and multiple lacerations due to an assault by canines, exact number unknown. July 1997, hospitalized suffering from multiple rib fractures and exposure." He looked over the top of his lenses. "And, although it doesn't say so here, you told me she was injured badly enough in an explosion this past month to require stitches for contusions on the forehead and a deep puncture to the back. I'm betting also, if she had checked into a hospital, there would be yet another entry for severe soft tissue trauma here." He arched one grey brow. "I'm afraid I've had to add another entry for those just yesterday."

Mulder shook his head. "I, I don't know what to tell you, Sir."

Caroline, her hand over her mouth, began shaking her head.

The physician slid his glasses off his ears. "Would it surprise you to know that, on top of it all, she's underweight, even for a woman of her height, and suffering from mild anemia?" He tapped a different set of numbers. "I'm also advising a megavitamin supplement, iron capsules, a calcium replacement regimen, and a strict diet."

Mulder grimaced. "She hasn't been eating red meat for several years now. She'd put herself on a rigorous exercise schedule. She won't like it."

Doctor Nicholas scribbled on a square pad. "That's not what I'm talking about. Exercise, in normal cases, could be adequate. And, a proper combination of plant sources, in sufficient quantity, would be more efficacious than a high meat diet." He put his pen down. "It's the quantity that I want to see increase. You're both FBI agents?" He watched Mulder nod. "It's a job you both love, I'm certain, but there *is* a good deal of stress, wouldn't you say?"

Mulder stared at the Doctor for a moment. "You want her to step down as a Field Agent, to take a desk job." He struggled to keep his voice level, then shook his head. "She'll never agree to that."

The physician shook his head. "No, it's a poor physician who doesn't understand that there are some for whom inaction is most stressful. But we need to somehow decrease this frequency of what are, you must admit, serious physical traumas. What she *needs* is a reduction in injury, not to vegetate behind piles of paper. And there, I believe, you can help." He rested both hands on the desktop to lean toward them. "Am I correct, Mister Mulder?"

The dark-haired man nodded.

-o-0-o-

Mayer Hall 4132  
University of California at San Diego  
Friday, May 1, 1998  
2:33 pm

Sandra Miller forced herself to sit down. Pacing like a caged animal would do her absolutely no good whatsoever. She had been doing this, she suddenly realized, since the night of Tom's death. Was it a delayed reaction to her grief, or some new bad habit for her to break?

"Professor Miller?"

She turned to smile at the slight man hovering in the doorway. "Anwar, thank you for stopping by. Come in."

He sank gratefully into her new office chair. "Do you have any news about Doctor Wilton's murder?"

Properly settled behind her desk now, she shook her head. "No, I don't, which is why I asked you here this afternoon. I know you work late, so I was wondering if you or another of the other graduate students has seen anyone in Doctor Wilton's office lately."

He cocked his head while he thought, a posture she recognized from any one of his oral presentations or exams. "No. Sometimes he would be here late, but I don't remember anyone else, outside of you or Mrs. Wilton, of course."

She leaned back. That, although not unexpected for academic couples, was a complete surprise for Tom and Judy. Usually Judy would spend her late hours in her own office across campus, or painting at her studio. There were several other artists who rented the building with her, so perhaps some disagreement was keeping her from going down to the building north of Balboa Park. She would have to remember to ask Judy about it when she saw her next.

"Professor Miller?"

Sandra grinned at the creases in the Pakistani man's forehead. "Anwar, don't frown. You've just told me something very important. Thank you."

He leaned forward. "Oh? Do you think it will help?"

She shrugged as she rose. "It may. It was something I should have mentioned to Detective Donato, but it didn't occur to me to check it out further until you gave me your information just now." She waited until the student was outside before she turned to lock her door.

-o-0-o-

Studio, north of Balboa Park  
San Diego, California  
Friday, May 1, 1998  
8:53 pm

Sandra knocked hesitantly on the glass of the main door. Knowing how much she valued quiet and her privacy when she was working on a problem, she hated to interrupt the people inside in what might be a moment of inspiration, or at their most creative time of day. But, she had to speak with Judy, who had not been home when she called. _Grief c__an__not get in the way of justice._

"Yes?" Terry O'Connors, who regularly described himself as the next great undiscovered Renaissance man, stuck his head outside. "Hello, Sandra, come on in! If you wanted to visit Judy, well, I'm afraid you're out of luck, but if you came for some witty and incisive conversation..." He held out both arms. "Here I am!"

She found it hard not to laugh. "Thanks. I didn't know where she would be right now, and she wasn't in her office at the University."

He stepped back to allow her to enter. "Come on in. You're here to pose nude for me, finally? One day, people will wonder about the beautiful woman O'Connors captured so perfectly. It ought to be you, Sandie."

She followed him down the hall to his studio. He could be remarkably single-minded on this subject. She even had to confiscate his film when she caught him surreptitiously sneaking shots of her at one of Judy's solo shows. She tossed her head. "You paying?"

"I couldn't afford you."

As they entered his studio, Sandra pointed to his latest statue, a flat steel rendering of Mary Magdalene, or so the plaque on the base pronounced. She would have found it hard to identify a flesh and blood woman in such a random assemblage of plates. "Not if you make me look like that."

He shook his head. "If you posed, it would be fine Italian marble, all the way." She watched something mysterious grow and die in his gaze. "Promise."

She circled the studio twice before she turned to him. "Has Judy been gone a lot recently?"

He nodded. "Unfortunately, yes. She and Liz had some sort of an argument, Liz hasn't been back, and we've seen very little of Judy. Odd day, that."

Sandra wondered briefly which Liz it was he meant, since there were three who rented studios at the office. Elizabeth Knight, a soft-sculptor, had the largest space available, since she needed it for her over-sized cloth composite pieces. Sandra had attended an exhibition of hers once, where she had spent time examining her 'masterwork,' a sixty-foot length of polyester that had various broken buttons, pieces of glass, and other odds and ends glued to it. Knight had entitled the piece 'Camelot II,' but it was definitely not something that would sell to the tourists down at Spanish Village.

Elizabeth Williams was the wife of one of the professors in her department, an elderly dilettante who spent her time doing landscapes and still lifes in oils and watercolors. Those, at least, Sandra could understand. In fact, she had one of them in her living room.

The last, Elizabeth Georges, worked in charcoals, drawing deeply layered, grey on black sketches that Sandra couldn't begin to comprehend.

But, she admired them all for their creativity. Not the least of which belonged to the man smiling down at her expectantly. "Sorry, I must have zoned out there for a minute."

O'Connors shook his head. "It wasn't that important."

She found her feet. "No, tell me. It may have something to do with Tom's death."

He began fiddling with the protective goggles he had been wearing when he opened the door. "Oh, I doubt that. I was just passing judgment on human nature, that's all."

"Tell me."

A shrug. "I was only saying that it's no good to have two artists producing the same types of work at a studio. There's jealousy, you see, which isn't productive for the rest of us."

She blinked at him. "But their joint show went so well! Tom told me they paid for the hall and all expenses, then had a good sum left over."

"Hum." Terry lifted the goggles off to rest them on a workbench. "That's odd. That's part of what they fought over. Judy? That you?" He ran out into the hall, Sandra on his heels.

The blonde spun to face them both. "Oh, sorry. I just needed to be somewhere familiar that wasn't filled with reminders of Tom. Sorry. Glad you finally got Sandra to pose for you."

He leaned down to peck her on the cheek. "No such luck, I'm afraid. She was here looking for you."

"Me?" Judy faced the chestnut-haired woman squarely. "Why? It's just been very rough these past few days. Sorry about earlier."

Sandra waved the apology aside to hug her friend tightly. "Why don't we go inside and you can tell me all about it?"

Judy rubbed her forehead tiredly. "Thanks. I'd appreciate that."

-o-0-o-

From her perch on a battered Ottoman, Sandra watched Judy wander aimlessly around her canvases. She would lift, then discard, a brush, straighten a half-finished portrait where it rested on an easel, or just stare up at the tiny skylight on the north wall. With a sigh, she extracted an Exacto knife from her pocket to trim the end of a piece of canvas which had been stretched over a frame. "I feel like this, you know."

Sandra shifted her gaze from her friend's fingers to her eyes. "Like what?" If she kept silent, Judy might let her in on what was really bothering her, provided she was ready for it.

"Like this canvas. Pulled all these different directions. Made to fit something I'm not." She snapped the blade back into the handle, then crossed her arms. "I tried to keep Mom away, but she insisted on coming. She's made a mess of everything." Judy's pale face began to color.

Sandra crossed the room to hug her from behind. "I'm sorry I haven't been much help with the arrangements. I've been trying - "

Judy nodded. "I know. You've been looking into Tom's death." She pushed herself free of Sandra's long arms. "That detective who was going through Tom's office with you. Do you think you can trust him? Does he care about this case? Or is it just another murder for him?"

Sandra stood in front of her. "He's a good officer, Judy, he cares. I trust him." She held the blonde's slight shoulders. "When things are a little easier, you'll understand."

"Will I?" Blue eyes glared up at hazel. "I'm not hysterical here, Sandra. Tom's gone, and with his family and my family all fussing and arguing amongst themselves, well, I have no one to turn to. Do you understand what that feels like? Do you?"

The chestnut-haired woman nodded. "I understand. Believe me, I do." She waited while the events of her life registered with the blonde.

Judy turned away again. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that."

"That's okay," Sandra soothed as she hugged her again. "I know how much Tom meant to me. It's going to be so hard with him gone now. I can't imagine how you feel, Judy."

"Thank you." The blonde turned to hug her back.

They held each other for a few moments before Sandra called her by name softly.

Judy stepped back. "Yes?"

The chestnut-haired woman guided her to the Ottoman, then waited until her friend was seated to kneel in front of her. "There's something you need to tell me about, if you can."

The blonde rubbed her eyes. "What?"

"Terry mentioned that you and Elizabeth - "

"That woman!" Judy had clenched both fists. "She's insufferable! I have to be kind to her for your and Tom's sakes, but she's, she's such a fraud. Always fluttering around, pretending to be so perfect. She accused me of stealing from her, you know." She leaned down into Sandra's face. "Now, I'm not that good with numbers, so when she came to me initially, I thought, all right, maybe I did make a mistake. So, I asked Tom to look into my records. He took them home and worked on them there."

Sandra sat down on the concrete to cross her legs. "Do you think he took them to his office, too?"

Judy gazed up at the skylight again. "I don't know." She looked down at the chestnut-haired woman. "But you know him, Sandie, things just dribbled behind him wherever he went. He may have had them there in Mayer Hall, I don't know. But he didn't - "

"I want in my studio, now!" The querulous voice belonged to Elizabeth Williams, who punctuated her demand with a slam of the outer door.

When the two women stepped into the hall, all the other artists had emerged, to see the older Elizabeth beet-faced under her white hair, confronting the middle-aged, quite heavy-set, Elizabeth Knight.

Knight had her hands on her hips. "Elizabeth, you hadn't been in your studio for weeks, and I needed the space for a new shipment of cloth. I haven't touched any of your things. I can have them moved out into the hall in an hour or so."

"But it's *my* space!" Williams simpered. "What are you doing in my space?"

Terry O'Connors stepped forward. "It's okay, Elizabeth. We'll all help, won't we?" He looked to the others, who nodded.

Placated, Williams stepped back, calming until she saw Judy Wilton. "But not her!" She pointed. "I don't want her in my studio. Ever! You understand?" With a final toss of her head, she stalked back into the sunlight.

Judy sighed. "I can't do anything right, can I?"

With a final hug, Sandra stepped forward to help with the bolts of cloth.

Terry eyed the receding back of the white-haired woman sadly. "What did I tell you, Sandra, you can't have two so alike together. You just can't."

-o-0-o-

Athens Hospital  
Athens, Greece  
Wednesday, May 6, 1998  
4:02 pm

Dana Scully was enjoying a wonderful dream. It was the summer of 1975, the year her Father was stationed in Jacksonville. He had piled them all into the family station wagon on a hot, lazy Sunday afternoon to go tubing on one of the polysyllabic tributaries of the St. John's River. If she thought about it, she could pronounce the name, but she didn't want to break the mood. The rest of her family was as quiet, as distant, as lost in their thoughts as she.

Instead, she concentrated on feeling the sun on her face, surprised that the black rubber of the confining tube didn't burn as she shifted her shoulders. Even odder, the rubber against her cheek was prickly. It yielded when she pressed her ear against it. That wasn't right. She'd hate to think she had punctured on a root as she drifted. Moving her hands along the surface of the tube, she sensed it was hard in places, soft in others.

"Ooh, Doctor, I'd hate to think I'm so out of practice I can only have that effect on women when they're unconscious."

Jumping slightly, she opened her eyes. Before them were two pearl buttons, one smaller than the other. Under her chin was the soft grey cotton of a man's button-down shirt, under her cheek, the roughness of a day's growth, and in her nose, the unmistakable scent of a worried Fox Mulder. She puzzled for a moment how she could tell his mental state with a sniff, then decided not to think about it too long. He had shifted his arms until she was tucked more firmly in his embrace while he whispered her name, in and amongst several other all-too-familiar phrases.

"It's not a concussion, Mulder. I'll be fine. Have you followed up on that man, or the woman and the child?"

There was a long silence.

She tried again. "Mulder?"

What she had thought was an inner tube rumbled beneath her cheek. "That's my Scully. Always fine." He tipped his face close to her ear. "Yet not, if we accept the marvels of modern medicine." Releasing her at last, he studied her face as she settled against the pillows, his eyes alternately amused and anxious. "Doctor Anderson sent over his records. Why didn't you keep your appointments, Scully?"

She stared over at him. "There simply wasn't time. You know how much work there was to do."

He pressed a hand into the pillow on either side of her head, his nose bare fractions of an inch from hers. "Minus 1.5, Scully, they measured it. Doctor Nicholas wants you to begin HRT immediately. And iron supplements. And calcium replacements. And megavitamins. Did you have any idea that was what your bone density is down to?"

Her eyes narrowed. "What are you saying, Mulder? That I'm falling apart here?" She ducked under his hands to head to the window, where she glared out at the afternoon smog to keep from looking into his deeply troubled eyes. "If I had thought I was jeopardizing the work, I would have taken myself off the cases. You ought to know me well enough to know that by now." She glanced to her left when she felt something cool cover her back.

"No fair having me at a disadvantage while we argue, Doctor." He waited until she had shrugged into her familiar terry cloth bathrobe, then cinched the sash tightly at her waist. He grasped her now-covered shoulders from behind. "It wasn't the cases I was worried about." Before she could protest, he stepped around her to tuck her tightly under his chin. "Do we have to do this right now? Can't we just hit fast-forward and assume I've convinced you that you were right to take a breather for a while?"

She pushed against his chest until he freed her. "Can't we just hit fast-forward and assume you've acquiesced to my decision to resign from the Bureau?"

Mulder staggered away from her, stopping only when he backed into the wall behind him. "No." He held out both hands to her. "Scully, you can't. Just because your brothers..."

Crossing her arms, she drew herself up straight. "My brothers have nothing to do with this. I have to, Mulder. It's only a matter of time, don't you see?" Ignoring the chill the concrete sent into her bare feet, she took a step toward him. "I'm grateful for your offer of a haven while I recover, but I don't think it will ever be enough. I won't be a useless burden to someone I care about. I don't want to be a damsel in distress, ever."

His long arms dropped to his sides. "But you'd never - "

She shook her head, silencing him. "Don't you understand, I wasn't trying to fail, back there on Santorini." When his eyebrows twitched in his momentary confusion, she called his attention back. "At Ancient Thira. A simple bring-down of a suspect should have been nothing; it *was* nothing at one time. That I couldn't do them tells me - "

"That you're tired." His tone was flat and firm. "Throwing yourself down the ramp at Akrotiri after a fleeing criminal didn't help matters any." He took a step toward her. "That you need to not push yourself so hard so soon. After your Father died, after you were returned you tried - "

Her jaw set. "That one day, at just the wrong time, I'd fail you. We would be pursuing some flesh-eating mutant, or maybe, fighting for our lives against the Consortium. And I'd break down, just like I did then. We'd be - " She tucked her chin. "You'd be dead. We'd never find the whole truth. You'd never know the Truth. If I survived, I couldn't live with that."

Mulder took two strides toward her. "But we aren't alone anymore. We have allies; there's - "

She nodded. The gleam in his eyes told her he found himself believing he'd won. If there was one thing about him she would miss, it was his boundless optimism, his certainty that, through it all, he would prevail.

But she took a step away from him. "All the more reason I should move aside now, Mulder. So you can bond with the others like you've bonded with me."

"No!" He crossed the distance between them in a rush. "No, not like with you." He grasped both her wrists. "Skinner, Rosen, Nichols, they're not like you. They don't know me the way you do. They haven't been through what we have; they don't *think* like you do."

She held him away from her with both hands on his waist. "But you've had other partners and worked well with them; you had Jerry."

Mulder was shaking his head. "No, no, no. There's no comparison with how Jerry and I worked together and how you and I do. Jerry and I, we, we overlapped, but, for all the time we spent together, he never really took me seriously. You and I..." He paused to lick his lips. "You and I." He took a step backwards, out of her hands. "You see what I don't, think the problem from the other side, find the missing piece that holds up my theories." He hugged himself. "Or you tear them into the shreds they were meant to be. But you never tear *me* into shreds. You may not believe my theories, but you've always believed in me." His eyes glistened. "There was only Sam who believed in me and she was gone. Then there was you. I'm getting Sam back. Are you going to be gone for twenty-five years now?"

Scully forced his arms apart to burrow her way underneath them. "Mulder." She rubbed his back with both palms. "You're a kind, decent man. I'd hoped that over the past year, you had come to accept that about yourself." She stepped back to hold his cheeks in her hands. "Never doubt yourself. I never have. At least you know all the times I've told you that *you* were crazy, it was only your ideas that were nuts, never you."

"Then don't make me choose, Scully. I don't want to choose."

As she remembered his dream, she dropped her arms to her sides. "There are some things we have no choice in. You were the one who told me that, Mulder."

He bent over her. "But I have been known to be wrong."

She grasped his wrist. "Really? I'd never tell. Promise." One cheek twitched at her joke.

A relieved sniffle. He tucked her under his chin to hold her for a few moments, the silence broken only by his hand, rubbing the terry cloth from her shoulder to her waist, over and over. He lowered his face to her ear. "Will you do this one thing for me then, Scully?"

"Hum?"

"Will you wait to make the decision final for a while? Just a little while? Two weeks?"

She smiled against his shirt. "Tell you what, G-man, I give you fighting odds. Four weeks. How's that?" She tipped her head back, only to discover she was talking to his throat. "Four weeks?"

Stepping away from her, he scrubbed his face with the back of his hand. "A lifetime, Doctor. Four weeks is a lifetime."

-o-0-o-

Northern Division  
San Diego Police Department  
San Diego, California  
Saturday, May 2, 1998  
9:32 am

Sandra Miller dropped the bar onto the end of her bike lock, then snapped it down. She had been referred to this station by the department's information office, so she hoped to be here for a short while. With her bulging backpack slung over her shoulder, she pushed through the double doors into the bullpen.

A uniformed officer stopped her. "Ma'am? May I help you?"

She narrowed her hazel eyes at him. "Where may I find Detective Jerry Donato's desk?" She followed the direction the officer's finger indicated with her eyes. Just visible over the row of battered filing cabinets, she spotted what she thought were Jerry's black curls. With a nod of thanks, she trotted toward them. "Detective?"

As she caught a glimpse of a green screen with rows of cards bouncing off the bottom, the man rolled the keyboard tray under the monitor, then turned. "Yes?" As his brown eyes fell on her neon green bike helmet, he frowned. "Yes? How may I help you?"

Her eyebrows were dancing worriedly on her forehead. "I was looking for Detective Jerry Donato."

The plain clothes officer grinned as he extended his hand. "Sorry, Ma'am, he's with the Sergeant right now. I'm Richard Gonzales, and I've been assigned as his temporary partner. How may I help you?"

She set her backpack on the floor. "I have some information on the Wilton murder I wanted to pass on to him."

Richard waved to the chair in front of his desk, then pointed to the steel box just beyond. "You always know where Jerry sits. Just look for the typewriter."

She chuckled at the black Smith-Corona. "Oh? He uses that old thing?"

Gonzales laughed. "And all the carbon-paper forms. With the older guys you understand. But, when he's not working late on the job, he's surfing the Web and arguing that LINUX thing with the rookies. So, you'd think he'd have no trouble making the switch." He pointed to an HP ScanJet on a cart beside his desk, "But, he says it's faster to use that. How Maria had the patience to put up with his quirks I'll never know."

Sandra's eyes were dancing. "Oh? Let me guess, he thinks computers should be used to process numbers, not words."

"Yeah, that's probably it." Gonzales' gaze canted toward the Sergeant's glassed-in office. "He should be out soon. Would you like a cup of coffee?"

"No." She was fidgeting in her seat. "I've had enough caffeine for the morning." As she looked around the desk, her eye fell on a framed image. "Who's that?" She pointed. "One of them looks like Jerry, under all that make-up. Is the other - "

"Maria Hernandez." The Latino detective walked around his desk to lift the photo off the flat surface. "This was taken at the Departmental Halloween party, the month before she was killed. The pair of them had been nicknamed Morticia and Gomez, for obvious reasons." He tapped the slicked-down black hair of Jerry's, which was level with Maria's shoulder.

Sandra nodded. "It began as a pejorative, I'll bet. But, after a while, it stuck, right?"

Gonzales smiled down at her. "Yeah, exactly. They were together so much, and all. So, they decided, what the hey, just go with it. I've never seen Jerry look happier than he did that night. You know that arm-kissing thing Astin would do on the show?"

Sandra tossed out a lop-sided grin. "He did it every chance he could. And she was ready to die of embarrassment."

"Oh, yeah," Gonzales sighed. "But they took home the prize for best outfit. Thanks."

She frowned.

"It's good to remember her like that. Not like at the end." His gaze dropped to his shoes, then he repositioned the image before returning to his seat.

She eyed him carefully, then slid out the latest volume of the Journal of Fluid Mechanics to read.

-o-0-o-

Northern Division  
San Diego Police Department  
San Diego, California  
Saturday, May 2, 1998  
9:49 am

Drained of all energy, Donato emerged from Johnson's office. Judy Wilton had made good on her threat of yesterday, so he had just finished enduring another lecture from his Sergeant about following standard police procedures. When he turned past the coffee counter to spy Sandra's long curls curtaining her face as she bent over a thick journal, he sighed. After wondering briefly how long the next diatribe would be, he headed back to his desk and the waiting professor.

She smiled up as he approached. "Detective!" The delight in her voice had heads, however surreptitiously, bobbing around them.

Donato flinched. "Hello, Doctor Miller."

She cocked an eyebrow at his tone, but refrained from commenting, merely reaching into the pack to retrieve a spiral-bound notebook with brown rings linked in a random chain across the cover. "Jeanette and I - "

Jerry held up both hands. "Doctor Miller, my Sergeant just boxed my ears for at least an hour for violating police procedure. If - "

Frowning, she dropped the notebook on the desk. "Detective! I have evidence here related to the murder of Tom Wilton." She rose. "If your Sergeant is a problem, I'll go speak to him." She pointed to the central office, where Johnson was hunched with the receiver on his ear. "Is that he?" Notebook in hand, she began marching stiffly past him.

Donato grabbed her elbow. "Professor, my hands are - "

She whirled on him. "Tied? Somehow I very much doubt that."

His dark eyes met hers imploringly.

She crossed her arms, tucking the binder safely under them.

With a sigh, he bent over his desk, scribbled on a blank page in his note pad, tore the sheet free, then held it out to her.

She glanced at the words, shoved the paper in her pocket, then zipped the notebook back in her canvas pack. She left the station without a word, or a backward glance, ignoring the stares in her wake.

Gonzales was still watching the swinging doors. "So, what was that about?"

Jerry sagged into the chair she had just occupied, then rubbed the back of his neck. "Intellectuals. Don't ask."

Richard laughed. "Then let me offer you some mundane procedural results to distract you." He passed over a folder. "There were hair and fibers found embedded in the carpet under Wilton's chair."

Donato read through the report disinterestedly, until a line had him frowning. "Cat hairs?"

Gonzales nodded. "I thought that would perk you up."

Jerry shook his head. "But the Wiltons didn't have a cat, not that I saw, anyway." Another stare at the page. "And it isn't hers. Too long, and the wrong color." He leaned back. "Could it be that Wilton was fooling them both the whole time?"

"What?"

Donato focused on his partner for the first time since emerging from Johnson's office. "Both Doctors Seymour-Wilton and Miller were adamant that Tom Wilton was a paragon of fidelity. I just wonder if - "

Gonzales chuckled. "I see. Well, the analysis suggests the hair came from a Turkish Angora, or a Turkish Van type. That at least narrows the search down a bit." He pushed a list across his desk. "Here's a list of the area breeders for you to call. I'll start checking through pet licenses."

Donato turned to his phone. "Okay. Not all cats are registered, but it's a start." He peered at the first name, then pulled out his glasses. "You write like Maria, Rich, all swirls and too small."

"Right, old man." Gonzales slid out the keyboard drawer.

-o-0-o-

Athens Hospital  
Athens, Greece  
Thursday, May 14, 1998  
2:21 pm

Pacing in the rising elevator car, Walter Skinner barely noticed the other occupants pressing themselves against the back wall to stay out of the way of the prowling, angry American. Finally, there was a jerk, the ascent ceased, then he pushed his way through the half-open doors. In his haste, he barely avoided colliding with a tall, lean man who had been waiting without.

"Sir!" Mulder blinked at his superior. "Hello! What are you doing here?"

Skinner latched onto the younger man's elbow to drag him down the hall. "I might ask you the same question, Agent Mulder. Where is Agent Scully?"

Mulder waved vaguely at the left side of the corridor before planting himself firmly in the Assistant Director's path. "Sir! What's going on here?"

Skinner flexed his jaw, then growled. "I had Agent Scully come out here to place her out of harm's way, to give her the chance to recover from her injuries, then you call to tell me she's in the hospital, recovering from a failed arrest." He moved until he was nose to nose with his dark-haired agent. "So, tell me, what *did* happen to her?"

"Sir." Mulder stared down at the floor. With a sigh, he crossed his arms, then met the bald Director's gaze. "We *were* relaxing. We were touring the Akrotiri ruins when an attempt was made to kidnap a child. Agent Scully went in pursuit of the suspect, but was injured apprehending him." The tall man backed off a half-step. "She struck her head and was unconscious for a few minutes. Given the nature of her previous injuries, I had her brought here. There aren't any hospitals on Santorini." He turned away to shove his hands in his pockets.

Skinner nodded. "So, why is she still here? May I speak with her?"

Mulder looked over his shoulder at his boss. "I should have worked harder on persuading her to check into a hospital when she first arrived, Sir. But there was so much that we needed to deal with first."

Skinner noticed the several day's growth on the younger man's chin for the first time. "There always is, Agent Mulder." He watched his subordinate sag slightly, so softened his tone to ask again. "So, why is she still here?"

Mulder closed his eyes momentarily. "Her doctor has placed her on hormone replacement therapy. He's also trying several calcium retention regimens. He'd like her to stay here until they have the correct dosages worked out." He faced the Assistant Director. "The MRI revealed no brain injury. We..." He flashed a mirthless grin. "I had them perform *that* exam first thing." The haunted cast lifted slightly.

Skinner nodded. "A wise precaution, Agent Mulder."

Turning away, Mulder led Skinner past the hospital rooms to a small terrace. Once through the glass doors, he called, "Hey, Scully, it's Dad here to make sure we haven't broken his power tools!"

Dana Scully, dressed in decidedly non-hospital-issued grey sweatpants, a light blue button-down shirt and white jogging shoes, smiled at the bald man behind her partner. "Sir." She placed her book on the seat cushion before rising to step over to them. "I'm surprised to see you here." She extended her hand to him.

He grasped her fingers between both palms, astonished, yet again, to realize how small his agent really was. "I have some news we need to discuss in private."

Touching a hand to each of their backs, Mulder guided them to a table at the far end of the terrace.

-o-0-o-

Casa de Pico  
San Diego, California  
Saturday, May 2, 1998  
7:12 pm

Jerry Donato shifted his glass anxiously. If Sandra was planning on meeting him here, she was very, very late. It was unfair of him to seek the advantage like this, moving their meetings from her turf to his, but he had to placate his superiors. They might, for all he knew, have an officer from Internal Affairs watching him, even now. He studied the other patrons in the noisy room surreptitiously, looking for anyone who was too quiet, or two men who were avoiding his eyes.

But, his search ended when he spotted Sandra, who had brushed past the host with a nod, making her way toward his stool by the bar. She had changed from her casual clothes of this morning to a simple blue shift, sleeveless and beltless, over an uncreased pair of patent-leather, sky-blue, low-heeled pumps. He suspected the plain ensemble was chosen only partly to allow her long limbs that free range of motion to which they were accustomed. It also appeared she wasn't one for uncomfortable shoes, this being the closest she was willing to compromise. Her long curls had been wrestled into a single braid, which had caught under the strap of a black shoulder bag. Well, Jerry thought to himself, the Professor has a point to make. By the turning of heads and quick glances as she strode up to him, it seems she was perfectly capable of making it.

He patted the plastic seat cover beside him. "I see you found the place."

"Sorry." She was slightly out of breath. "There's a restaurant in Old Town with a similar name. I had to hail a second cab to arrive here. Mineral water." She was responding to the hovering barkeeper's unasked question as she settled in.

He mentally chastised himself for forgetting she didn't drive. "I'm sorry about earlier, at the precinct. It's just that..." He shrugged.

A quick sip of the clear fluid. "You have regulations and procedure. I'm just used to getting things done." She glanced up and down the long surface. "If there's somewhere else we can talk, I'd appreciate it. I'm really not a bar person." Her nose wrinkled. "There's probably nothing vegetarian here."

He grinned. "They have decent vegetarian entrees available in the dining room." He pointed toward a terraced, glass-sided space, full of light, but nearly empty of customers. "If you'd like to join me for dinner."

She clucked at him, a gesture he was coming to recognize as a repressed jibe, then picked up her glass. "Sure. I think you know what's in the bag." She waggled the burdened shoulder.

Nodding, he slid off the stool, then stepped back so she could proceed first. "This way, please." He held out his arm. As they walked, he allowed himself the pleasure of being someone he never could be with Maria, a man escorting a woman of off-beat, yet undeniable, beauty for an evening.

-o-0-o-

Athens Hospital  
Athens, Greece  
Thursday, May 14, 1998  
2:53 pm

"Sir, should we prepare to return to the States?" Scully was, as always, Walter Skinner noted, perfectly poised in her seat, giving no physical sign of her debility.

Both men eyed her carefully before exchanging a glance. Skinner read anxious hesitation in the cant of the younger man's lips, then, the reason for his concern was verified when the light struck the dark patch on her cheek. The Assistant Director interlaced his fingers on the table before he answered negatively.

There were two explosions of breath before Scully leaned forward. "Sir, if there are matters related to the X-Files that need our attention, I would hope at this late juncture that..."

The older man held up both hands. "I said, no, agents. There are two pieces of information I wanted to convey to both of you, but I had to do this in person." He looked from one face to the other. "Lindhauer and McConnell are dead. When Lindhauer failed to appear in court, I was alerted. Senator Randall also contacted the Bureau when McConnell failed to appear for work after three days unexpected absence. I had both their residences searched."

Scully cocked her head. "And?"

Skinner crossed his arms. "Lindhauer's was clean, but McConnell's had been sanitized, hastily I might add, after someone, or rather two someones, were killed there. The blood and tissue samples matched Lindhauer and McConnell."

Mulder rubbed his chin. "McConnell's father is a prominent minister down in Texas. I'm surprised we haven't heard it on CNN."

Skinner shook his head. "You won't hear about it, at least not soon. The Reverend has asked the Bureau to investigate the matter, without fanfare."

Scully pushed herself to her feet. "We can be packed and ready to go within the day, Sir."

The bald Director was standing as well. "No."

"Sir!" Mulder rose, then clamped his lips shut when Scully, gesturing with her head to the other patients on the terrace, rested her hand on his arm.

"There's a doctor's lounge down the hall where we can speak in private." She pointed. Once through the passage and safely ensconced behind a frosted glass door, she, with her arms crossed, her back rigid, stood toe to toe with their boss. "Sir, I am fine." The three words came out like bullets. "I can return to the States at any time."

Grasping her by both shoulders, Skinner leaned into her glare. "I'm certain you would make those words true, Agent Scully." He looked to Mulder for support, only to see the younger man's jaw was set. He lifted her slightly. "This is to be a low-profile investigation, but that, Agents, is exactly what you two are *not* at this moment."

Mulder grasped his partner's arms just beneath Skinner's hands to guide her away from him. "He's right, Scully."

Tugging at his tie, Skinner took the opening to move to a battered couch. "I have called Nichols back from the West Coast to supervise the operation. As of right now, he's putting together a team to take over the case."

Scully, still rigid, settled on the cushions beside their boss, while Mulder slumped into a chair across from them both. "But that's not all, is it, Sir?"

Skinner shook his head. "The Smoker has approached me personally. I assumed from his overture that his ascension to power is complete. The Organization is now back in his hands. We shall have to secure all communications regarding your investigations, all of them. We must prepare for the changes he will make."

Mulder clenched both fists. "What? He's attempting to reel you back in. Sir, is there anything in your past that..."

Skinner shook his head. "No. Nothing. And if there was, I would tell you both, here and now. But I wanted some recommendations for more agents to work with us, to expand the X-Files. I was thinking of Pendrell, for starters."

Scully tucked her hair behind her ear. "Phillips. We could use her expertise with forensics and chemical analyses. She's had some time in the explosives unit, as I recall."

Mulder reached across the space to touch her shoulder with the tip of an index finger. "Is that wise, Scully? Their relationship could be used against them. It already has."

Skinner flexed his jaw. "Whether she was inside the group or outside of it, the personal costs would be the same." He looked, first, into the steely blue, then the hazel-grey, eyes before he finished. "You should both be aware of that by now."

Scully nodded before she grasped her partner's arm. "Mulder? This is your group we're discussing. If you have some reservations, or if you have other candidates in mind, tell us."

Skinner caught the emphasis on 'your' and made a mental note to pursue the matter further with his agents.

The younger man slumped back in his chair. "Not really. Pendrell and Phillips both understand the stakes here, Phillips especially. With them at headquarters, Nichols can return to the West Coast after the investigation in McConnell's and Lindhauer's deaths finishes, to rejoin Rosen."

Nodding, Skinner released a sigh. "We will need all the allies we can get. I'll begin indoctrinating Pendrell and Phillips upon my return."

Scully glanced quickly at her partner. "Sir, I regret my earlier outburst, but we would be more than willing to return with you, should our expertise be required."

Mulder was shaking his head. "Scully, you need the rest."

She glared at him. "Mulder, I'll be fine. The soreness from the fall is gone, mostly." She ignored his growl. "I can have Doctor Nicholas send my medical records to Doctor Anderson. He can continue working with me to determine the proper dosages."

Skinner watched the younger man's face set. "No, that won't be necessary. As I said, the press inquiries are still coming in about the events in Africa, and Senator Matheson agrees that you two need to stay out of the limelight. If you're too visible, you'll both become bigger targets than you already are, and we're not ready to deal with those sorts of problems, yet." He reached into his coat pocket. "Which brings me to the final reason I'm here." He passed the younger man a manila packet. "Surveillance photos, Agent Mulder."

Scully waited while her partner turned the thick sheets over, watching his unabashed delight grow with each image. She rose to peer over his shoulder. "Mulder, if you'd like some time..."

He held up one print that showed a woman on a bicycle, her long brown hair flying under a red helmet. "I was the one who taught her to ride, Scully."

Skinner nodded. "Your sister doesn't drive. She uses that to get everywhere, even to the grocery store." He tapped a tan, perforated box strapped to the back. "The agents watching her reported that she was on her way to the veterinarian's."

Mulder peered at the faces in the next photograph. "Who's this?"

Skinner checked the image before he answered, "That's Detective Jerry Donato of the San Diego Police Department, who's the official investigator on the murder she's looking into."

Mulder and Scully exchanged a glance, each recalling conversation in Miami, more than a year old, before Scully smiled. "He'd better be Chief of Police by the time Mulder meets him, Sir."

Skinner looked from one to the other in confusion. "He's a fine officer, Mulder. He has a degree in Criminal Justice Administration from San Diego State University, graduating at the top of his class. He made Detective in record time. As far as we can tell, the only trouble he had was after he lost his partner during a botched arrest." The older man held up his hand. "But that wasn't either of their faults. Their informant set them up."

Mulder shook his head. "That's all right, Sir. My sister has her own life. Scully, look at this!" He handed one print to her.

After examining the photo, then carefully placing it on the stack with the others, she rubbed his spine gently. "I see she took something away with her from her time at the Kibbutz."

Skinner leaned over to check the image. The chestnut-haired woman was kneeling, one hand supporting an inverted plant while the other lifted a green plastic pot off the roots. Tell-tale black smudges streaked across a forehead bright with perspiration, over an intense cant to dark eyebrows that Skinner found refreshingly familiar. "Gardening?"

Mulder took a moment to compose himself. "Yeah. She hated to get dirty when she lived with us. But, she seemed to like it after she was sent to Israel."

Skinner rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I was informed that transplanted test subjects would be given new personality traits, just to thwart searches such as yours, Agent Mulder. But I didn't think those were successful."

The younger man passed the stack of photos to his partner, who returned to her seat to reexamine them all. "Sir," he queried, "may I call my Mother to come take a look at these? She's here in Athens and could join us in a matter of minutes."

Scully tucked the photos back in the envelope. "Better yet, Mulder, why don't you deliver them to her? You can take some time there."

The dark-haired agent accepted the manila packet from his partner. "Are you sure, Scully?"

Looking from one to the other, Skinner realized that something more than partnerly concern was at stake.

The auburn-haired pathologist nodded. "Yes. I promise not to go playing in any poppy fields with my maidens if you go." She brushed the back of his wrist with the tips of her fingers. "Besides, you'll have Assistant Director Skinner to protect you."

Mulder stared at his partner's cocked eyebrow for a long moment before he nodded. "Okay. I'll be back."

She rose when he did. "I'll be here."

Sending one long glance over his shoulder toward the red-haired agent, Skinner waited for the younger man to join him.

-o-0-o-

Casa de Pico  
San Diego, California  
Saturday, May 2, 1998  
7:23 pm

"Thank you," Donato said to the waiter, who then turned to take the adjacent table's order. In a fit of pique, he wondered, why, in this nearly empty space, they had been seated next to the only other couple in the dining area. He glanced across the linen at Sandra, who was reaching under her chair.

She pushed the notebook across the tiles to him. "Check pages twenty-four and thirty-one."

Donato studied the entries. "It's these lines labeled S&P which concerned you?"

She nodded. "Yes. Those were his retirement funds. I don't know why they were interspersed with the Federal grant money."

Jerry leafed through a few more pages. "It's reverse fraud, if anything. It appears he's diverting funds from his retirement account to your research budget, not vice versa." As he closed the notebook, he checked her face. "You had no inkling of this?" Her haunted hazel eyes were all the answer he needed. "So, these entries tally with which of your books?"

She retrieved her own green ledger book. "Our secret account, the one where we 'knew' what we could spend. See?"

He folded both books closed as the waiter approached with their salads. Once they were alone, Jerry sighed. "And here I thought - "

She was leaning across the table toward him. "What? That Tom was embezzling government funds? That you had an easy answer here?"

He handed the books back to her. "No. Not really." He remembered the tiresome hours on the phone. "So, whom do you know that has a Turkish Angora cat?"

She simply stared at him, then repeated the final few words of his question in astonishment. "I have no idea." She poked her radicchio experimentally. "Tom was slightly allergic to them, which kept him from stopping by once I adopted Salazar from the shelter. A cat, you say?" Her forehead contracted in surprise. "Why are you asking me this?"

"There were cat hairs found embedded in the carpet under the chair." Jerry wondered how much higher her brows could climb.

Sandra rested her salad fork, with its tines down, on the edge of the bowl. "Detective - "

He held up both hands. "Jerry, please."

"Jerry, this makes no sense at all!" She was fidgeting now, so he speculated that decorum wouldn't keep her in her seat for long. "None of the neighbors has a long-haired cat, which is the only way I suspect you could find the fur there."

He chuckled. "Sandra, solving a murder is both like and unlike a fluid dynamics problem. The pieces don't all approximate a coherent mathematical theory."

Her hazel eyes narrowed. "How *much* cat hair?"

Fully having expected her to continue the argument, he opened his mouth, then closed it. "Hum?"

She leaned forward. "I said, how much cat hair? A clump, one strand, what? Were they ground into the carpet?"

He began laughing out loud. It felt so good to have these kinds of discussions again.

"Detective!" Her reprimand was sharp enough to command the attention of the couple beside them.

He took a long sip of his beer. "Just a few. No mats." He cocked an eyebrow at her. "Mom had enough long-haired adoptees that I know what those look like. Nor, from the distribution, did it appear a cat had rolled around under the chair. It was as if they had been brushed off the clothes of whoever had visited Wilton."

She chewed in silence for a few moments. "So, you suspect the perpetrator was a cat owner, or was around someone who had a Turkish Van." She threw him a lop-sided grin. "Good. For a minute there I thought we were trapped in another bad remake of 'Cat People' or something."

Jerry smiled back. "Yeah. The original, where you never saw the monster, was better." He shook his head. "No. Nothing about this case is simple."

"Okay, what else did you find?" She was blinking at him expectantly.

"In the carpets, you mean?"

She shrugged. "Or in the autopsy. If there were that many hairs, you ought to have picked up corticosteroids in his blood, right? That would have told you whether the person responsible for the cat hairs had been there either before or after Tom's death."

He rubbed the back of his neck. "It's difficult to say. There are elevated levels of every steroid running through the bloodstream in the case of violent death." He cocked his head at her. "Sorry."

She waved the concern away. "Even if the victim was unconscious at the time. Autonomic responses fighting to keep the body alive." She sipped her water. "So, the cat may mean nothing."

"Or everything." As he watched, she was retreating deeper into thought.

She eyed him, her gaze laser-tight. "Indeed."

-o-0-o-

Downtown Athens  
Athens, Greece  
Thursday, May 14, 1998  
3:33 pm

Walter Skinner's hands flew over the steering wheel as he spun his rental into a traffic circle. He had been driving like this for most of the journey from Omonia. He chuckled voicelessly as he caught a glimpse of Mulder's knuckles, which were white as he gripped the sides of his seat. The younger man needed a distraction. "Agent, your Mother is a formidable woman, intelligent and undaunted. I see much of her in you."

"Thank you, Sir." The dark-haired man's teeth were clenched. "Although I'm not certain she'd want to know about your driving habits."

The bald Director spared his agent a glance. "This? I was stationed here for a few months before Vietnam, Mulder. I learned."

"Ah."

They screeched to a halt at a traffic light. "So, tell me about Agent Scully's condition."

Mulder met his superior's eyes for the first time since leaving Omonia. "Sir, I'd really rather not say."

Skinner's jaw set. "Oh? We're past the time when you should be keeping secrets from me." He glanced down to see that the younger man's hands were white still, but now they were clenching and unclenching in his lap. "Agent." He let his voice slide into its softest, yet most menacing, growl. "Tell me."

Mulder shook his head. "Sir, she's thinking of leaving the Bureau."

A honk behind them distracted him until they were underway again. "Oh? Why? How bad is it? And what is it?"

The dark-haired man crossed his arms. "It's..." He paused as he licked his lips. "It's osteopenia, Sir. The early phases of osteoporosis. She's trying to halt its progress, maybe even reverse the bone loss with - Sir? What are you doing?"

Skinner had slammed the rental into a parking space. "Agent, do you have any idea how serious this is? This is a life-threatening disease!"

Mulder nodded carefully. "I know that, Sir. I also know that with proper medication, diet, exercise, and rest, Agent Scully will..." He was shaking now. "She *will* recover."

"Mulder! Listen to yourself!"

The younger man raised his chin. "I believe in this, Sir. The treatments will, no, *are* working. She *will* *not* have to take early retirement. She *will* *not*."

Skinner watched the storm behind the younger man's hazel eyes settle into certainty. "Very well, Agent. I simply wish you had kept me informed of this." His gaze flicked to the rear-view mirror. "You see that green sedan?"

Mulder leaned over. "You mean the one that just passed us?"

The director nodded. "He's been following since we left your parents' apartment. That way will take him to the hospital. I suggest we keep a close watch on him." After a suitable distance had been established, he blared the horn as he backed into traffic.

-o-0-o-

San Diego, California  
Saturday, May 2, 1998  
8:49 pm

Jerry Donato glanced over at his passenger, remembering. Their conversation had drifted through other topics as the meal had progressed, prolonging the illusion that they were a couple on a date. But they were merely two people who needed each other's help looking for answers, he to a murder case, she to the death of a close friend. Or was it an illusion, he wondered, as a forbidden thrill coursed through him. She had dressed up, certainly, but her high-necked, loose-fitting shift was hardly the apparel of choice for a woman seeking to entice with her physical attractiveness. At the end of the meal, he had offered her a ride home, she had accepted, so here they sat, waiting for a green arrow so they could turn left.

She had been silent for so long that he jumped slightly when she spoke. "You know, there was something not quite right about Tom's office."

He glanced over. To him, the place had been enough of a midden that he never would have known, but this woman worked with Wilton daily. "There's his normal messy mess, then there's sheer nuclear annihilation?"

She chuckled. "Well, almost. If anything, it was like someone had straightened up, actually."

Now, he just stared at her.

Her eyes dancing, she pointed out the front windshield. "Green light."

The two words unleashed a torrent of speculation in Jerry's mind before he took her statement literally, then stepped on the gas pedal. "Ah, so you think someone had gone through his office *before* you and I arrived there?"

She nodded. "Although, for what, I honestly can't say." She tapped the black bag with her foot. "That's the only notebook he maintained covertly, but it was right where he always kept it."

"Hum." He passed a creaking station wagon. "Just so we don't chase any red herrings, let me ask the obvious questions here. He *did* clean up on occasion, didn't he?"

She threw her head back to let out a long peal of laughter. It was, as Jerry had hoped, full of richness and joy. She covered her mouth for a moment. "Of course he did. But only when Judy and I nagged him into it. Just before the semester began, as a matter of fact."

"So, wasn't it about time?"

Her response was more blessed merriment. "Oh, no. Tom could be coerced only once a year, if that. We both pitched in, Judy and I. When we were finished, he commented that he'd only have to work that hard if he were moving offices."

They exchanged a significant glance.

"Do you have sufficient cause to swear out a search warrant now?"

Donato shifted uneasily behind the wheel. "It's iffy. With this being murder one, the medical examiner can claim priority over any and all potential evidence related to the case. But, my department won't like how this is proceeding. They'd rather have cooperation than confrontation."

"So, you need to get it out of your department first? Politics." Blowing out a long, angry breath, she simply crossed her arms as she stared out the window for a few blocks. "Look, Judy's a reasonable woman. She's just grieving right now. I'm having the staff and students keep an eye on the office for me. Only she and the staff have keys, and the students are there to all hours. They'll let me know if they see anyone strange."

"Okay." Jerry pointed. "That's the turn?"

She nodded. As he pulled into the driveway, she smiled over, "Thanks for the ride."

Reluctant to release her so suddenly, he struggled to find a question to keep her there. "When's the funeral?"

She had been working her hair free of the braid. "It was supposed to have been tomorrow. I suspect part of Judy's frustration yesterday was with the Medical Examiner, who still retained control of Tom's body. I tried to tell her that there may be questions remaining to be answered in what is, sad to say, a murder investigation."

Jerry blinked. "Oh? I wasn't informed of this. I thought with the autopsy finished, there wasn't going to be any problem. How did you find out?"

She shrugged. "A long talk with Judy. She gave me a ride home last night."

"So?" Jerry leaned toward her.

"She didn't say. She's pretty rattled by all the relatives who have appeared out of the woodwork. Tom's family didn't come to their wedding, but they show up for his funeral? It's like they blame her, or something. Besides, she can be astonishingly dense about technical matters at times. What?"

He narrowed his dark eyes at his passenger. "That's the first negative thing I've heard you say about her."

She bit her lower lip momentarily. "Sorry, I didn't mean it that way. She had different strengths, that's all. She's immensely creative. She does oil painting." She met his gaze squarely. "Did you know that? She had a couple of shows for her works over the past year."

"No, I didn't." He silently congratulated himself for following his instincts and asking this woman to meet with him. Just such a detail might never have come out during the course of a typical police investigation, but, it provided a wider circle to investigate for suspects. He licked his lips. "Tom had no problem with that?"

She eyed him curiously. "Of course not. He was instrumental in getting that first show set up for her."

"Ah." Donato nodded. "I see." She was staring at him expectantly, which unnerved him. "What?" He began studying his hands.

She twisted her curls behind her shoulders. "If you have no further questions, Detective, then I have a fussy feline waiting for me inside. See?" She pointed to a round body pressed against the glass.

Jerry grinned. "No. Good night, Sandra."

"Night, Jerry," She was already half out of the car.

-o-0-o-

Athens Hospital  
Athens, Greece  
Thursday, May 14, 1998  
4:14 pm

Her eyes closed, Scully caught the soft scrape of the latch against the door-jam. Expecting it to be her partner, she lay still for a few moments, listening for the rhythm of his footfalls, the soft exhalation which would mask his concern. But the steps were distinctly wrong. They belonged to someone shorter, someone who was in a hurry, yet furtive. She knew whoever was behind her expected she would be asleep, so prepared to take advantage of the element of surprise. Cold in the air conditioning earlier, she had draped a thin hospital blanket over the sheets loosely. Now she slid her arm under it to grasp the satin edge. The strides hesitated, so she made of great show of sighing deeply before turning her back to the door. When she could smell her visitor hovering over her, she threw the outer cover up and off, then flipped onto her knees while releasing a quick punch to his abdomen.

"What the!" It was about all the man got out before she threw herself at him, sending them both sprawling on the floor. He was still batting at the blanket when she saw the needle end of a hypodermic poking through the open weave.

It was loose, wiggling freely, so, with a final punch to her assailant's jaw, she flung the cloth off him and into a far corner. "Who are you?" She leaned forward. "What do you want with me?"

"Hey, let me up!" His eyes uncovered now, the man was pushing at her, but she, heedless of her sweats and bare feet, was sitting on his chest.

"You!" She caught a clear glimpse of his face. "It's you! Mulder was right about you!"

She heard pounding feet coming down the hall. Her partner was bellowing her name, amid calls for silence from the nurses and doctors.

The man's eyes widened as he realized he was trapped. Then, he began fighting with her in earnest, grabbing at her breasts while attempting to push her down past his hips.

Undeterred, she jabbed his eyes with her thumbs, then, as he howled in pain, aimed a knee into his groin, then shifted all her weight onto this single point of contact. The man tried to coil around himself.

"Scully!" Mulder flew into the room.

"Help me!" Her assailant was sobbing now. "Get her off me!"

His weapon drawn, Walter Skinner barreled through the door, then stutter-stepped to a halt. Mulder was helping Scully to her feet while the driver he had spotted earlier was writhing on the tiles. "Agents?"

"Sir!" Scully pointed downward. "Arrest him! We think he's with the Consortium."

The Assistant Director placed the muzzle of his SIG against the man's neck. "Hold still!" Once he was secured in handcuffs, Skinner straightened. "Now, Agent Scully, talk to me."

She was absolutely rigid, her partner standing as close to her back as he could without touching her. "We encountered this man at Ancient Thira, nearly ten days ago, Sir." She looked to Mulder for confirmation, who nodded.

Skinner saw her shoulders sag fractionally. "You think he was shadowing you? For what purpose?"

Mulder rested a custodial hand on her arm. "We're hoping you would find that out, Sir. Now that he's attacked Agent Scully." The three looked down as their suspect emitted a particularly long moan. "He can be held and questioned. He had a passport under the name Benner, but I doubt that's real."

She crossed the room to the crumpled blanket. "He was carrying a hypodermic, Sir, and I believe it was his intention to inject me with it." After extracting the needle, she placed it carefully in Skinner's outstretched palm. "I suggest you have the contents examined."

Mulder hauled the man upright. "What were you planning on doing to Agent Scully?" He shook him, then twisted his bound arms painfully.

"Mulder!" The Assistant Director barked his rage. "Let him go!"

The putative assailant whimpered in terror. "Please, just take me away from her."

"With pleasure." Skinner's dark eyes glinted. "Let me make some calls." He stepped into the hall.

Mulder shoved the prisoner into the wall, where he slumped to the floor, then turned to his partner. "You okay, Scully?"

"I think so." She arched both eyebrows. "What?"

"No damsel in distress, right?"

One cheek creased. "No. Not this time." She settled primly on the edge of the mattress.

He advanced on her to grasp both wrists. "See, no shakes. You *are* getting better."

She looked up, but their superior re-entered the small room at that moment. "Sir?"

"One of the agents from the Athens office should be here momentarily. I'll interrogate him further when we have arrived." The three looked to the limp man in the corner. "Agent Mulder, if I discover you have injured this suspect in your zeal, be certain you will be hearing from me further on this matter."

Scully slipped her feet to the floor, but as she crossed the room, the bound man shivered. "No, keep her away."

She looked to her partner, who shook his head. "I *am* a physician, Sir." Her protest was succinct.

"For who, the Marquis de Sade?" He slid further away from her. "You'll both be hearing from my lawyer. This is brutality, plain and simple."

Mulder stalked across the room to tower over him. "You attacked a Federal Agent in a hospital! What were you thinking?" He crouched. "Tell us who your superiors are. The Smoking Man? Who?"

Scully rested her hand on his shoulder. "Mulder, that will be enough. I'm certain Assistant Director Skinner can take care of this."

He snarled downward one last time, then rose. "Okay."

"While we wait, Agents, I have news for you. Chief Blevins has demanded an investigation into the deaths in the Courthouse explosion."

"What? But there was one already underway when I left. Oh." Scully walked over to the Assistant Director. "Into the death *I* caused, you mean. Well, he's within his right as a supervisor to initiate one whenever a Special Agent - "

Skinner took hold of one elbow. "Has to take a life in the line of duty. I know. They took a statement from Jarred Stone in the hospital."

She looked to her partner, then chuckled softly. "I'm certain Elizabeth just *loved* that. But what I don't understand is why is Blevins poking his nose into the X-Files now, after all these years of having left us alone?"

"Unless the Smoker is controlling him, I don't know, Scully." Mulder had stepped up behind her to guide her away by grasping the free arm.

She turned to him. "I should go back, Mulder. I don't like being accused of something and not being there to defend myself. *We* should go back."

"No!" He pushed his hand against her spine. "There's no need."

"But - " A quick glance at their superior, then she muffled her protest.

Skinner flushed slightly. "I've pulled some strings to have the proceedings suspended, Agent Scully. Jarred Stone's testimony was sufficient to put off the dogs of Internal Affairs, for the present." He softened his gaze as he looked down at her. "The media refuse to let this go. I've been carrying a pager because I've had to disconnect my phones at home."

"Oh." She was beginning to relax as Mulder's thumb worked unconscious circles on her arm. "I didn't realize it was that bad. I thought it would be our usual one-day wonder event, then back to anonymity."

Mulder grunted. "Senator Matheson's doing his best to make it that way."

Scully's left cheek creased. "Next you'll be telling me that MUFON is convinced it was a UFO."

The three laughed together softly at the irony, before Mulder sobered. "No, not really. They've discounted it because it was so obviously an earth-built rocket. It's the conventional press who are wondering about a new world power that's been unveiled. With the unrest in the Congo, they're all speculating that one of the factions has bought a Soviet rocket." He felt a twinge of guilt at the fading scars running down her arm. "The Russians are denying the whole thing, of course, which just makes the press *more* suspicious."

She cocked her head to look back at him. "What have we started, Mulder?"

He grinned. "Would you believe..."

"Yes, Eighty-Six?" She laughed out loud, her green-blue eyes dancing when both men joined her.

Mulder's tongue stuck out slightly before he teased, "That for once, I haven't a clue?"

They turned as the door opened to admit a blond man in a grey suit. The Bureau badge he held up identified him as John Curtis, as he quickly assessed the situation, then walked up to the bald man. "We're ready to leave, Director."

Skinner nodded. "I'll see that I work on helping you back at the field office." With a glance, he took his leave of his agents.

-o-0-o-

Athens Hospital  
Athens, Greece  
Thursday, May 14, 1998  
6:23 pm

Mulder slipped into his partner's room. When he saw her bed was empty, he called out, "Scully?" His panic from earlier rose suddenly.

"I'm here, Mulder." Her voice rattled from the bathroom.

As a cover for his unexpected fear, he slid onto the bed, then interlaced his fingers behind his head. "You okay?"

She pulled the door open. "What do you think?" She cocked her head when she saw him sprawled out. "Agent Mulder, there is only *one* of those in this room."

Fully relieved now, he wiggled on the mattress. The bad news he had could keep for a little. "I don't see a problem with that."

She curled up at his hip, holding her left wrist in her right hand in front of her bare ankles. "Mulder. What *am* I going to do with you?" She smiled gently as his eyes glinted. "No jokes about playing Doctor, either." She tapped his chest with a knuckle. "What's on your mind?"

He sighed. Now was as good a time as any. "Your assailant is dead, Scully."

She stood. "What? Was he injured while we struggled?"

After rising, he walked around the bed to tower over her. "You mean while you were so diligently deflating his manhood, Doctor?" He sobered. "No. He had a cyanide capsule, Scully. When Skinner confined him to check the contents of that hypo, he swallowed it."

Scully took a step back. "What? The Consortium has never asked that of their agents before. What could he possibly know that would require extreme measures of that nature? They could have made him disappear with a simple call from an attorney!"

Mulder grasped her arm. "I think the escape of the shape-shifters and our exposure of their activities has them running scared. They can't afford another Saunders. That's all I can figure."

She studied his shifting hazel eyes for a moment. "So, what was in the hypo?"

"Just what you thought. Poison. Someone wanted you out of the way, Scully. Whatever you think of yourself, you're still a threat to them."

She dropped her forehead to his chest, then walked over to the bed. "Am I? They've never tried something so blatant before. Or was it just a diversionary tactic while they pursue something else?"

He slid behind her. "They're desperate, like I said. You *have* to stay. You *must* see that now."

She shook her head. "I'm just being honest with you, Mulder. I'm making progress, certainly, but I can't guarantee a full recovery. Not yet." She turned to look up at him again.

"Who can certify anything?" He arched both dark brows at her. "There's more."

She crossed her arms. "What?"

"Since the death happened here in Athens, the Bureau can't take control of the investigation the way we could in the States. It's been turned over to Greek officials to pursue."

"Mulder!" She began prowling the room. "How can we? They don't know what they have!"

He sighed. "I know, Scully, but it's the best we can do. Skinner's not letting go of it. He's taking half the evidence to have the Bureau work with it, in parallel to the officials here. He got them to agree to letting us return to Santorini when you're feeling better. But, we can't leave the country without letting them know."

She leaned against the wall. "I'm sorry, Mulder. This happened at just the wrong time."

He walked over to grasp her arm. "No. Look at it this way. The Shadows can't control two separate investigations. One way or another, we'll run them to ground."

She looked up at him. "I hope you're right."

He guided back to her bed. "But aren't I always?"

-o-0-o-

Northern Division  
San Diego Police Department  
San Diego, California  
Sunday, May 3, 1998  
8:21 am

Jerry Donato drummed his fingers nervously as he waited in Johnson's office. After a long night lying in bed, he realized the only way to move the investigation forward was to follow Sandra's suggestion, have the medical examiner obtain a search warrant, and apply the talents of the department to excavating Tom Wilton's office. After three short phone calls, he had instigated the meeting which would commence with the African-American's arrival. He glanced to his left, where his temporary partner was biting crescents out of the rim of a stained styrofoam cup. He thought to check to his right, but he knew the seat was empty. Sandra Miller had abandoned it a few minutes earlier to prowl along the glass like a caged lioness.

Johnson entered behind the three, closed the door, then released a prolonged sigh. "Good morning, Detectives. I'm certain the people of the city of San Diego appreciate this level of dedication that has you at work bright and early on Sunday, but I was looking forward to an uninterrupted night's rest." He turned to the woman fidgeting in the corner of the room. "And you must be?"

"Doctor Sandra Ann Miller." She closed the distance between them to grasp his hand firmly. "We need a search warrant for Tom Wilton's office." She crossed her arms.

Jerry sighed. Although he knew Johnson appreciated directness, now was not the time for the Professor's distinct predilection for cutting to the chase.

Johnson waved her to the remaining vacant chair as he settled behind his desk. "So, I snap my fingers and out it comes." He shook his head. "I wish it were that simple, Doctor Miller. I know you just want this case solved, but - " He held out a narrow white folder.

Sandra glanced at the contents quickly, then tossed the papers back on his desk. "No, Judy, don't do this."

Donato leaned forward to identify the document. "So, she did it." He looked up at his sergeant. "This is grief talking, nothing more."

Johnson nodded. "Grief talking with the backing of the law. So far, I've been able to keep this out of Creighton's purview, but I may not be able to do so much longer. Unless there's evidence already in your possession you can bring us, Doctor Miller, our hands are tied. I have to speak with the Department's counsel on this lawsuit, and the warrant will have to come through the Medical Examiner."

She eyed Donato. "My personal and professional papers are entirely at your disposal. I have some of Tom's notes, which are also yours. If I can sneak any more out, I will."

Johnson rose to stand in front of her. "Doctor, don't you understand. The Medical Examiner will have to take matters from here. Despite all your good intentions, if he discovers you have removed material evidence in a murder investigation, we, as officers of the law, *will* have to come after you?"

She was on her feet as well. "No, Sergeant, *you* understand. This is my friend, my colleague, who was killed. I won't let anything stand in the way of finding out who did it."

Johnson glared at her. "But, I presume you want this individual convicted for his crime?" Donato recognized his tone as the calm before the storm.

Sandra glared back. "There are ways, Sergeant, there are always ways."

He held up one long finger. "But ours are the legal ones, not yours."

She charged out without another word.

Johnson watched her go, her long hair swaying as she stalked down the corridor flanked by aging desks. "From the back, she does look like Maria. If only her hair were darker."

Donato's gaze dropped to his right hand, which was clenching the arm of his chair. "Not that much darker, Sir."

Gonzales cleared his throat. "So, it's back to tried and true detective work, talking to suspects, those mundane procedural efforts? Time to go to the Medical Examiner, as you tried to tell her?" He glanced quickly at Donato.

Johnson, his eyes still on the swinging double doors, nodded. "Indeed. Did you have any luck with the cat breeders?"

Jerry heaved a sigh. "No. The Turkish Van is rare, which narrowed the list down considerably. The one pet owner I reached had no connections with Scripps, or the university." He licked his lips nervously. "Sir, I'd like to interview the staff there, if I may. As background checks."

Johnson nodded. "I concur, Detective. It would be necessary as a part of the case, and, as long as you stay away from Wilton's office, won't get you into any trouble with his widow, yet. This lawsuit is a nuisance, but it won't stop the investigation from proceeding, whatever Professor Miller thinks of our abilities." A flash of humor glinted in his eyes. "Besides, it will let you keep an eye on what the resourceful Doctor has uncovered now." He rubbed his face. "Before you go, stop by the morgue and pass on our request." He pointed to a summons. "They should be releasing the body to the family by the end of the day."

Gonzales bumped Donato's shoulder with his fist. "Buy you some breakfast before we hit the road, partner?"

Donato nodded gratefully.

-o-0-o-

Athens Hospital  
Athens, Greece  
Friday, May 15, 1998  
10:23 am

Doctor Nicholas sighed at the two visitor's chairs, presently unoccupied, across from him. He had enjoyed his years as an obstetrician, delivering new lives into the welcoming arms of parents and grandparents. But, as he had aged, he had chosen to restrict his practice to the gynecological side of his training, while a younger partner suffered through the frantic midnight calls and long hours. Even then, most of the women he had treated were surrounded by family and children, so were willing to accept his authority without question.

Not these two. He knew doctors made the worst patients, but, these Americans! Demanding full disclosure, then controlling exactly which drugs, and how much, should be dosed. Always there was that dark-haired man, Mulder, hovering so intently over his patient that his staff was in an barely-restrained uproar over his near-constant presence. Yet, here he sat, having just called the tiny woman in, to discharge her, not into the shelter of her husband, mother, or brothers. She, and it astonished him that such was the case for so attractive a patient, lacked either spouse or lover. Her blood family, in what must be yet another American peculiarity, was perfectly willing to leave her far away, unattended, not inquired after. So, here he was, preparing to deliver her into the care of an unceasingly attentive colleague and his family.

Had he not taken this case on as a favor for a friend in the government, he would have sent the woman, who was now opening the door, packing across the Atlantic without a second thought. 'I'm simply relieving my staff of two problems,' he reminded himself aloud as he cleared his desk of all folders but those labeled 'Scully, D.' He rose while his patient, who was lightly grasping the elbow of her dark-haired companion, approached, then seated herself.

"Doctor Scully, Mister Mulder, thank you for your promptness." Whatever flaws Americans had, they all seemed to be the most time-conscious of persons. He cleared his mind, as he had his desk, of everything but what mattered to the patient waiting on him. He sat. "Dana, you've been coming along nicely." He watched as her eyes narrowed slightly at his choice of a name, then chose to forge ahead. This genial manner worked with the others, but she had probably interpreted his words as an insult. _So be it._ Soon she would be someone else's problem.

"Yes, the hot flashes and mood swings appear to have subsided, at least for now."

The clipped words and slightly elevated chin verified his suspicions. He noted silently that if her ability to present a stoic mask to those who saw her on a day-to-day basis was somehow diminished, he would have hated to negotiate with this woman when she was healthy. He forced himself to return to the matters at hand. "I think it's safe for you to continue your recovery at home." _Wherever that may be._ He scribbled on a prescription pad. "These are an extra set of hormone medication and vitamins, just as a reserve." He waited through the expected exchange of glances between the pair, then tore the paper off the gummed back.

"That's all? Just medication?" Mulder shifted to the edge of his seat.

Nicholas leaned back in his chair. Soon, he knew, the dark-haired man would be prowling the confines of his office.

"Mulder." The woman beside him was using her softest alto. "All I need now is rest and exercise."

Nicholas leaned forward. "But, not too much of the latter at first. No marathons, just yet." His advice was met with an emphatic nod from the man as well as a slight stiffening of the woman's jaw.

"How soon do you advise I can return to my work in the States?" She straightened. "My energy levels are much higher than when I was first admitted."

There was a gasp from the man, whether it reflected frustration or surprise, Nicholas couldn't say. Apparently, this had been some point of disagreement between them.

The senior physician chose to don his glasses at this juncture. It usually lent an air of authority to his words. With these two, he needed all of that he could muster. "I want to see you put on at least ten pounds, Dana. Not necessarily muscle, either. You need some reserves, all right?" He glanced at the lanky man beside her, whose dancing hazel eyes were broadcasting their agreement. "Your bone index never fell to dangerously low levels, so I won't be imposing strength-building exercises on your recovery time, initially." He suspected that she would rather have chosen the latter than the former as a recommendation.

Nicholas passed the sheet to her. "I'll want to check you over in about a month, before I give my approval for you to return to work." He caught the silent agitation, he fidgeting, she going absolutely rigid, at the length of time he specified, but pressed ahead. "Have that filled at the hospital pharmacy before you leave. It'll be cheaper." He dropped his eyes to the wood, given the pair the space to depart.

-o-0-o-

Medical Examiner's Office  
County Operations Center  
Sunday, May 3, 1998  
9:27 am

Donato handed the slim folder to the technician wordlessly.

He nodded. "That'll be 145. This way." He led them along a bank of doors, finally stopping just before the next wall. "It's this one. Stand back." He rolled the shelf out.

Donato frowned. "Hunh."

Gonzales cocked an eyebrow. "What is it?"

Jerry pointed to the arms, which were raised into fists. "This isn't typical rigor. When we found the body, the arms were limp and straight. Now, he looks like he's ready to go six rounds with somebody."

The technician sighed. "Hang on. I'll have to pass this along."

Donato found his eyes drawn to the discolorations on the corpse's palms. He was concentrating so intently that he was unaware of the others returning. An abrupt rattle in the throat of the man behind him sent him spinning.

An older man, whom Jerry recognized as Doctor James Hitchens, the department's senior pathologist, stood behind him.

The white-haired man crossed his arms as he glared down his hooded, raptor-like nose. "Now, Mister Humphries tells me you have problems with this case, Detective. A recalcitrant widow with a guilty conscience, perhaps, hum?"

Jerry's discomfort at being the object of the pathologist's intense stare only grew as the doctor brought his age-lengthened face close to his own still-rounded features. "Yes. You'll have to obtain a warrant to get into Wilton's office."

Hitchens shook his head. "I can obtain one for any reason. You know that. Tell me what seems to be troubling you, Mister Donato." He waited.

With a deep breath, Jerry launched into a recap of the initial days of the investigation, Gonzales nodding his support by his side. When he had reached the present, he stopped with a question. "What happened to Wilton's body? The arms were straight at the scene."

Hitchens simply narrowed his eyes, stalked back to his office, then returned with a folder of his own. "I keep photographs of my work." He eyed them both before dropping the binder on the table, then flipping through the Mylar-encased pages. "Here." He pointed. "You see?" The arms are flat here, just as you reported." He closed the book."

Jerry rubbed the back of his neck. "Uh, I don't mean to make - "

The white-haired man raised his chin. "Speak your mind, Detective!"

"But did you notice these, these discolorations on the palms?"

Hitchens flipped through the sheets. "The hands were unblemished at that time." He closed the folder. "I had no question as to the cause of death. Blood loss was a sufficient explanation." He crossed his arms again.

"Then, Sir, why have you not released the body to the family?" Gonzales frowned.

Hitchens favored them both with a lightning-quick grin. "Ah! I had some questions about some of the endorphin levels in the blood." Slipping on his reading glasses, he opened the notebook to tap a page. "I was waiting for results from tests of the hair samples to give me a background level, then I would know how the results from the muscle sections compared. I wanted to keep the body here in case I needed to run more tests."

Gonzales stared at the heels of the cadaver. "I don't think you'll find anything now." He waited while both men looked over at him, then he caught Donato's gaze. "I've seen this before. A strong electric current was applied to a corpse in a previous case to conceal evidence stored in the tissues. I think something similar has happened here."

The response from Hitchens was immediate and dramatic. He began shouting down the hall for his assistants, who had taken the opportunity of their boss's engagement with the detectives for a break. "Rogers, get in here! Get Anderson on the phone! If this office has been compromised, I want to get to the bottom of it!" He whirled to face the detectives. "Thank you, both, for stopping by. We'll review the surveillance tapes to solve this. Be certain you'll have a search warrant in your hands by the end of the shift. Be certain!"

Knowing they were dismissed, Gonzales turned to Donato. "What say we go for that breakfast, partner?"

His eyes on Wilton's slack features, Jerry nodded. "Give me a moment here, Richard."

Reading the expression on Donato's face, Gonzales sighed, then stepped outside.

Jerry looked down at the corpse. "So, tell me who did it, Tom." He shook his head. He was supposed to be professional, to see each death dispassionately, to look for cause and effect with detachment. But this one, so soon after Maria, struck too close to home. He looked down again. "Like you could just wake up and tell me, hum?" Donato began pacing. "Was it your loving wife, Judy? Had she found you with a pretty young thing and was she enraged, plotting her revenge? Or was it a colleague? A friend?" He rubbed the back of his neck as he thought of all the distraught young men and women he had interviewed. "A graduate student whose thesis you had demanded be rewritten one too many times?" He shoved his hands in his pockets as he studied the blond hair and slender nose. "I wish I had your looks." He bent over the ashen face. "Who is Sandra Miller, Tom? What was she to you? You certainly meant more to her than I think you realized. Do you know how much furor and pain you've left behind?" He stopped, as if waiting for an answer from the dead man.

Donato squared his shoulders, then turned to the door. "Ah, time to go do my job, Tom." He had caught Gonzales's quizzical gaze through the glass.

Alarmed, Gonzales tapped Jerry on the arm when he reached his side. "Let's go, partner. We have witnesses to interview."

With a sigh, the thick-chested detective nodded, then they left.

-o-0-o-

Athens Hospital  
Athens, Greece  
Friday, May 15, 1998  
10:49 am

As they waited by the elevator, Mulder gazed down at his partner. Her fingers were still hooked tightly over his arm. Although he relished the contact, he was curious as to its persistence. That she was more worn that she was willing to admit verbally was the most likely cause. But, it was equally possible that she was attempting, however obliquely, to apologize, again, for her outbursts of emotion during her stay here. It was odd that what she accepted without question or complaint from him she refused to tolerate in herself. His focus shifted from her thumb, rubbing circles on his arm, to her eyebrows, arched in curiosity.

She was studying the letters on the paper. "No wonder he suggested I have this filled here. These are so new I've only read about them in journals. I didn't know they were available to clinicians yet."

Since the doors were sliding open, he freed himself to touch her spine. "Nothing but the best, that's what I told them, Scully."

She walked to lean against the back of the elevator without acknowledging his jibe. Once he had positioned himself by the control panel, she announced, "Five," to his quizzical eyebrow, then lapsed back to introversion.

He bent over her to note that her jaw was stiffened slightly, that her eyes were focused beyond the painted steel of the car. She was, no doubt, working her way through some concern, possibly over the length and expense of her stay here in Athens. She was probably considering the risks involved in a return to the States, but he knew it was not the ones to her personally that weighed most heavily upon her. After a few moments of silent ascent, whatever it was, she had resolved it in her own mind, since she was turning her sapphire-sharp gaze upwards.

"Mulder, I have to pay you back for all of this." She waved her arm at the walls of the rising box.

He simply blinked at her for a moment. If she meant the money he had removed from his rarely-touched trust fund, he would flatly refuse her offer. He would gladly drain the entirety of the account if it would restore a fraction of what had been taken from her. It was his father's legacy, after all, and a few months earlier it would have been a relief to be divested of what he could only consider blood money. But, he had learned much, both from and about Christina Knox. He felt, for the first time, that he had his father's tacit approval for his quest, even if it was from beyond the grave. Perhaps this was what Bill Mulder had been attempting to tell him in that dark, fateful living room a lifetime ago.

But, he knew that was not what the flame-haired woman reaching for his wrist wanted to hear. Further, he would use any opening, any advantage, to keep her by his side. He leaned over her. "Then, stay."

She nodded.

He felt tears prick his eyes. Was it really that simple? She was drawing herself up straight, so obviously not.

"It's only fair. I owe you that, at least until we've found you a new partner."

He shook his head. "I don't *want* a new partner, Scully, I want you." He let the spareness of his response unsettle her.

After a moment's hesitation, she walked over to the control panel, leaving her back to him as she lapsed into reticence.

He waited. They had been at this impasse for over a week now. In a moment, he knew, she would turn to attempting to convince him that he needed to be in San Diego, and as soon as possible. She would at least do him the courtesy of not telling him she was fine, or any variation thereof. After all, if she was, then she didn't need to leave the X-Files, or him.

He stepped up behind her, hoping to forestall any protest. He wanted to remind her of all the things he admired about her: her integrity, her loyalty, her honesty, and her ability to admit when she didn't know, when she didn't have an answer. She would, in turn, use those words to remind him that she *was* being honest with him when she said she felt the physical demands of their work were beyond her present abilities.

But, he also knew, *knew*, to the core of his being, that her disability was *temporary*. When she was rested, healed, when those sharp angles on her face had rounded over, she would feel differently about her fears and her failings. Yet, mere words would no longer suffice. They were trapped in a tangled knot of sentences, needing a clean cut to set them free, to put matters right between them. Neither of them was good at persuasion, only at uncovering the truth.

Mulder was humbled and honored that Scully was willing to lay aside that which mattered most to her, her career and future with the FBI, to guarantee the success of the X-Files and his continued well-being and personal happiness. But, he needed some way to convince her that such a sacrifice was unreasonably great and totally unnecessary. Without being aware of it, he stretched out his hand to touch her, a glancing brush of fingertips across her back.

She shifted uneasily, then turned to look up at him. "Mulder." She shook her head, then dropped her gaze to her leather-clad toes.

He closed the distance between them again. He only hoped he could find another way to make her understand the depth of his admiration for her intellect, the sincerity of his respect for her abilities, his abiding affection for her personally.

She reached behind her, unerringly closing her fingers around his palm, as if she knew where he was by instinct. "Mulder." But then the elevator chime sounded, a large black-haired family thrust themselves upon them, so she met his eyes, then dropped his hand.

He nodded once before guiding her out the door with a gentle push. They would return to this later, he knew, with a profound sense of relief. He still had time to persuade her, or for the truth to make itself known to his partner.

-o-0-o-

Scripps Institute of Oceanography  
La Jolla, California  
Sunday, May 3, 1998  
10:21 am

Gonzales pointed toward a tree-obscured side-street. "There?" He looked over at his partner.

"Yes." Donato nodded. "The facility's just beyond the parking lot. Good thing we stopped by the lab, or we would never have seen what had happened to the decedent's remains."

Gonzales eased the plain black Ford into the closest available space, stepped out, then waited for Donato to collect the documents and join him. He pointed to a turbaned man who was waving from the doorway. "Looks like you have a fan club."

Jerry juggled the papers to wave back. "That's Anwar, one of either Doctor Miller's or Doctor Wilton's graduate students. I couldn't tell which when I questioned him earlier."

Beaming broadly, the Pakistani student was holding the door for them. "Detective! Have you had any luck with the fingerprints?"

Gonzales chuckled. "You *do* have a fan club."

The turban-wearing man studied the younger officer intensely, then stopped. "Well?"

Jerry shook his head. "We're here because we found something odd in the body, Anwar."

"Ah." The graduate student assumed a somber, thoughtful expression. "And you think it has something to do with the wind tunnel. So, you wish to collect more evidence. This is also good. I will unlock the doors for you, Detectives." Once the three were inside the control room, he paused by the phone. "I shall call Doctor Miller for you, yes? She is here today, as am I."

The black-haired detective smiled. "That would be much appreciated, Anwar."

As the student tapped out the number, Gonzales leaned over. "Getting doors opened for you, having a professor hand-carry evidence for you. With all this assistance, even Evans could solve this case."

Donato just chuckled.

-o-0-o-

End - Anath - Baal-Hadaad


	3. Mot

=====o================================================o=====

Anath by Mary Ruth Keller

Part III - Mot

=====o================================================o=====

Atlantis, Athinios City  
Santorini, Greece  
Tuesday, May 19, 1998  
1:02 am

Dana Scully sighed at the quiet click of the door latch. As she expected, she heard the slight shuffle of bare soles brushing the slate, then felt one corner of the mattress depress by her feet. She schooled herself for the worried contact she knew was coming. A weight landed gently on her covered ankles, by the shape, a hand. She had, she knew, one of three options. She could ignore the fact that her partner had slipped into her room on yet another night, then awaken in sunlight to find him curled up by her feet. A few days ago, she had been inordinately grateful for his presence, as achy and exhausted as she had been at the time. She was still thankful for his concern, but she was healing, so cast about in her mind for a gentle way to let him know she needed her own space.

Perhaps that was all she had been asking for when she had proposed leaving the X-Files: a little space. She had been surprised by the intensity of Mulder's reaction to her request. He had been with her almost constantly at the hospital, as if their prolonged separation had been responsible for her decision, so his mere presence might sway her mind. But, that he considered her voluntary departure comparable to the involuntary, incomprehensibly cruel, loss of his sister, was a shock. She thought they had settled that issue last year, that for all their closeness, their bond was other than that of brother and sister.

She smiled down at the dark head, pillowed on his long hands. It had been another surprise, waking up to find him here nightly, knees tucked up to his chest. Her reaction was not at finding him sleeping near her, after all, there had been the red-eyes and the stake-outs and the sudden departures to cases. The only time they had to catch a few hours of rest had been while exhausted, strapped down, leaning up against each other. There had been the inevitable hotel room mistaken attributions, where he, or she, had wrapped themselves in a blanket, then dropped into a chair. They had an odd alternating schedule for that, her sense of fairness winning out over his off-beat chivalry.

Or, there would be no chair. So, one of them would curl up under the sheets, while he, it was usually he, if she thought about it, pressed the bedspread into service as a cramped sleeping bag. Having her tall partner collapsed at her feet was not nearly the same problem in this king-sized Tyrolean bed with its carved head and foot boards. In fact, with his back pressed against walnut, it was more like his futon in Arlington than any undersized hotel mattress would have been.

This, however, was different. He was attempting to drive home their connection, only words no longer sufficed. He had, in desperation, fallen back on the silent tools they used with each other, the little touches that joined and anchored them. She knew he was concerned for her health, just as she would have been had he been injured in the line of duty. But, his nightly presence indicated more than that. She found herself reminiscing over the years of their partnership, her mind trailing back over his father's death, his non-sister's mysterious appearance, her abduction, the deaths of Reggie Purdue and Jerry Lamana.

At last, she considered the first time she had stood in their old basement office, he projecting a cultivated air of suspicion about her. His words to her in Athens Hospital began shaping the disconnected scenes, until a unifying pattern became clear to her. Their being thrown together had been a calculated move on the part of Blevins and the Smoker, but what they could not control was the sense of loyalty and fairness deeply rooted in her. So, despite the attempt to use her as a tool, their partnership, however unusual, had been the first long-term relationship built on mutual trust and respect in his adult life.

There had been his mother, who loved him, but who had proven incapable, while he had been a child, of dealing with all the losses her life had seen. Then there was his father. She had no mental framework to deal with what that man had done to his children, despite his efforts to protect Samantha and provide for his son. Then, there was his sister. Two of their years together had passed while she matured from infancy to a rudimentary awareness of her surroundings. Certainly they had been close, but with her removal at the age of eight from his life, their association as children had been nearly the same length as the law enforcement partnership he and she had shared as adults.

That eliminated option number two: to fuss at him until he left. In fact, it made her almost abandon her decision to depart from the X-Files, regardless of her debility. That she was so utterly vital to any one person was a new experience for her. Her parents had loved her, without a doubt; her father treated her as his special pet. She had been valued as dependable, relied upon, given an inordinate amount of responsibility as a Scully, but that had been all. One thing the Smoker had gotten right about her and her family, she mused, remembering a desperate confrontation in her living room, was how Roman they all were. Her brothers measured their successes against Ahab's: better grades at the Naval Academy, promoted sooner and higher, or more children faster. Although he protested to Margaret that such was not the case, Bill bragged on his *three* sons in *two* births more than she cared to remember.

With two sons and an older daughter, she had never been, she knew then, essential. Nor had she had that with Jack Willis. There had been his work, then the case which obsessed him almost to the point of insanity, until it finally took his life. He had become so focused on the 'operatic love affair' of Warren Dupre and Lula Philips that he had abandoned her. In a way, it was a relief they had never had sex. They had parted before becoming so emotionally entangled with each other there could be no separation.

But not so for her and her partner, apparently. Their work entwined them, more tightly than she had been with Jack, or Mulder with any of the lithesome women who seemed to cross his path. He depended on her, and, truth be told, she on him. _Am I being selfish by withdrawing now?_ The Quest for his sister was finished, but there were new challenges to be faced in the X-Files. How would he prepare for the ever-shifting tactics of the secret Organization that opposed them? Could he foresee, and deflect, any new stratagems the Smoker would devise against him?

She reminded herself sternly that had they not been willing to work together, hand in glove, the revelations in the D'Amato papers would never have seen the light of day. Would it be sufficient for him that he had all the others around him? There was a tension between Nichols and Skinner - that she knew. Would he pick up on it? Would he be able to negotiate the mine field of politics that Director Skinner and Senator Matheson sailed through with such ease? Was she the vital piece of the puzzle that held everything together? She found herself being forced to agree with his anguished statements at the hospital. For all the strengths of the team they had assembled, she had specific skills that the others lacked. But, was she up to the job? Her various aches, the line of pills she took over a day, argued that she was not.

With a quiet sigh, she closed her eyes. Now was not the time to make that decision. Now was the time to console the man at her feet. With a silent creasing of one cheek, she pushed the past behind her to select option number three: gently teasing him into understanding. She left her lids lowered. "There's something wrong here."

A smooth shift, a quick flexing of biceps, then she was nestled against the cotton stretched over his chest. "What, Scully, tell me." The softness of his tone only enhanced the concern she knew he felt.

She twisted on her hips until her cheek and shoulders rested against him comfortably. "There's a man in my bed." She grasped one wrist behind his back to keep him from taking offense.

She could feel him pulling away, hunching his back to look into her eyes, but she kept them tightly closed, her forehead on his shoulder. A long hand gently cupped the curls against one cheek. "Ah. A strange man, no doubt." It seemed he recognized the purpose of the game, but was more than willing to play to its conclusion.

She cautioned herself to keep from laughing. "Stranger than anyone could imagine."

He leaned in to breathe in her ear. "And what should we do about this strange man in your bed? Would it be the Lady's wish that he should leave?"

Rubbing his sides, she bunched the cotton under her palms. "That would depend." She shifted forward to hold him again. "If this strange man is leaving to go mourn that he is unwanted, then the Lady wishes that he remain."

He hugged her tightly in turn. "Hum."

She rotated her skull to rest her forehead against his throat. "If this strange man is leaving to go chase some phantom dragon, so the Lady will have to mount her palfrey and don her armor to go to his rescue, then the Lady definitely wishes that he should remain."

The soft thud of his heartbeat was drowned out by a snort. "Ah. So there is no contingency that will allow the strange man to take his leave?"

She nodded. "There is one. If the strange man is planning on bringing the Lady some refreshment, then he may go." She shifted away from him. "As long as he returns forthwith."

After rising, he bowed. "The Lady is a harsh mistress."

She settled the covers around her. "The strange man cossets her incessantly."

Shaking his head, he turned to the door. "Slave driver."

"Worrywart!" She smiled after his departing form. Whether she stayed or left, this was how they always connected, she supposed, using levity to remind them of their bond.

-o-0-o-

Scully padded to the door. Unless her partner was stealing fruit off the trees lining the road, he should have been able to pour lemonade into a glass by now. She slipped into the hallway.

"Thank you for informing me, Sir. I'll look forward to hearing from them." His soft voice echoed in the darkness.

She made certain to scuff her bare heels on the hall carpet as she stepped into the kitchen. "Mulder?"

Turning in his seat at the plain pine table, he smiled wanly. "That was the Assistant Director."

As she crossed the room to rest her hand on his bare shoulder, she nodded. "I gathered that. Tell me what's wrong."

He pulled out a chair for her, then slid the full tumbler across the wood, leaving a wet track behind it. "Nothing, really. Skinner's not certain he can trust the results he's getting, so he's going through unofficial channels."

She took a sip. "Well, that will make Langly happy."

Mulder snorted. "Yeah. It'll be safer."

She cocked her head. "Certainly. If this guy was with the Consortium, a good pathologist could develop a chemical signature for the cyanide in the capsule that killed him. It'll tell us something about who manufactured it."

He eyed her carefully. "You think this might tie back to Broadway Pharmaceuticals? Maybe even to Nora Samuelson's death?"

She shook her head. "I don't think it'll lead directly to them. They're too intelligent. If they could put together a scheme to sample the homeless, they're prepared to cast the blame on a subsidiary. What?"

He had covered the back of her hand, which was resting on the table, with his palm. "And whom will I have these discussions with when you leave, Doctor Scully?" His eyes were like smoke-colored diamonds, impenetrable, unyielding. "Whom?"

She said nothing, merely turning her palm upward to clasp his fingers tightly.

-o-0-o-

Fluid Dynamics Lab  
Scripps Institute of Oceanography  
La Jolla, California  
Sunday, May 3, 1998  
10:56 am

Richard Gonzales had stuck his hands in his pockets as he waited by the wind tunnel. His temporary partner was still in the control room, where he was deep in conversation with the chestnut-haired professor who seemed to be central to this case. He smiled to himself. Jerry Donato's immensely productive partnership with Maria Hernandez had been one of the few bright spots in the interactions of Latinos and Caucasians on the force. Her death had been a shock to them all, but, most especially to the thick-chested man who was now emerging into this high space. If Gonzales thought about it, that hooded expression Jerry had worn since returning from the Emergency Room, his white shirt stained with red splotches of Maria's blood, was barely noticeable now.

He sighed. He had been elated when Johnson had asked him to take over for Evans. Donato had an outstanding reputation as a deeply capable, highly ethical peace officer. Jerry's lack of prejudice toward his fellow Latino and African-American officers had been a welcome change in an often-tense work environment. However, it seemed the thick-chested detective had made his own choice of partner. Gonzales would have to speak to Johnson at the conclusion of this case, but, for now, there was an investigation to be conducted.

Sandra Miller, still all nervous fidgets, smiled quickly at the Latino officer. "I understand there's something unusual about Tom's body. But I've found something that may bear on the matter. This way." She stepped forward with dispatch.

Gonzales glanced over at Donato. "She never wears down, does she?"

Jerry shook his head. "That's not fair. You didn't see her at the scene."

Gonzales stopped. "What? She's not the hysterical type, is she?"

Donato glared at him, then trotted up to join the chestnut-haired woman just before she turned around the end of the tunnel. "Care to give us a hint?"

Her hazel eyes flashed at him, then she stopped by a workbench positioned against the wall farthest from the control room. "If you gentlemen would be so kind." She tugged at one end, while Gonzales pulled at the other.

Jerry peered over the back. "These ropes and pulleys?"

She scrambled over the bench to point to a worn spot near one end. "It looks like mountain-climbing gear. But, why stash it here, except as a decoy?"

Gonzales and Donato exchanged a glance, before the Latino frowned. "Decoy?"

She slid off the bench to cross her arms. "Of course. I thought initially that this was evidence. But, if it were it would mean that whoever had sabotaged the wind tunnel had used the door in the roof at the blower end of the wind tunnel to enter. Once he was inside, he had time to pull down the rope, coil it up, commit the damage, then hide himself." She shook her head. "The only thing I can't understand is why decoy an entrance when he planned on slashing the screens in the blower room?"

Gonzales was wiggling his fingers into a pair of latex gloves. "But, suppose that's exactly what happened? Suppose our suspect hid out while your friend was trapped in the tunnel? He could have been a psychopath who enjoyed experiencing his victim's suffering, or, he could have waited until the excitement died down to make his escape." He met Sandra's gaze squarely. "I'm guessing you were more concerned with looking after Tom than with searching the place. I'm also guessing this room stays unlocked for most of the day, or night."

Donato nodded. "I'm inclined to agree with him, Sandra."

Gozales watched her glare at his temporary partner, she obviously considering his stance some form of betrayal.

Jerry rubbed the back of his neck. "Most criminals aren't as smart as the ones in detective novels." He sent her what Gonzales knew was a placating grin. "One of the cases Maria and I worked on was essentially handed to us by one of the ex-cons who did it."

The Latino detective nodded. "The Old Town bank heist?"

Donato glanced at him. "Exactly. The crime was actually one of the most elaborate I had seen, with the thieves impersonating food vendors to get inside just as the bank opened. They killed the power to the bank so they could disable the surveillance camera system. One of the robbers had stolen a customer's laptop, purely on a whim. When the batteries ran down - "

Sandra sighed. "He threw it in the trash outside the bank, you had the unit finger-printed, then you had him, and them?"

"Not exactly." Donato chuckled. "As I was saying, when the batteries ran out, the thief, who could tell from the date of production that the unit was still under warranty, wrote the manufacturer, supplying serial number and all. He demanded a replacement battery charger, claiming the *charger* had been stolen in a mugging."

"A lie is best hidden between two truths." Sandra frowned as she finished the statement.

Gonzales took her look of surprise to mean she hadn't been certain where she'd heard that comment before.

Jerry arched a dark brow. "But, the thief gave the manufacturer a bad credit card number, so the company planned to charge the original owner's, which they had on file. They called to check with him first, though. One of those gold-card holders, as it turned out. When they explained why they were calling, he immediately contacted the main office, who sent him on to Maria. The guy was at least bright enough to make the return address a P.O. box, but, all we had to do was stake it out, wait for the package from the manufacturer to arrive, and, that was it."

She chewed her lower lip for a moment. "Okay, I see your point." The three turned as the phone in the control room buzzed. She nodded a parting as she finished. "I'll leave you gentlemen to your work. For now."

Gonzales watched her hold Donato's gaze for an instant before she stepped away.

-o-0-o-

Atlantis, Athinios City  
Santorini, Greece  
Wednesday, May 20, 1998  
8:17 am

'Two weeks, I have two weeks left,' Mulder thought as he tapped the Return key, dispatching his latest E-mail to Frohike. The little man had been almost as devastated by his partner's ultimatum as he himself had been. 'You'd never let me down, Scully,' he commented mentally to the woman he hoped was still sleeping in her room. He'd been on the verge of voicing his conclusion to her several times over the past few days, but, after their repeated rounds in the hospital, knew there was so little he could accomplish with words.

"Celebrity Skin finally have its own web-site?" Scully had been watching him with amusement from the doorway.

Through his reading glasses, Mulder studied her. Since their arrival at the hospital, she was taking Nicholas' dietary regimen seriously, as well as consuming the estrogen tablets on schedule. He didn't believe he was deluding himself that she was sleeping through the night, was not as pale as before, was moving less stiffly. Rising, he waved at the seat. "Would you like to check out the distaff offerings?"

Shaking her head, she settled on the divan across from the oak desk. "So, what's this I hear about vampires, Mulder?"

Walking to the front of the highly-ornamented box to lean against it, he crossed his arms. "Ooh, bored in Paradise, are we?"

Patting the red velvet on the back cushion, she sighed. "Something like that." She looked up at him. "Also, fair's fair. You took me to Akrotiri; I'll take you for a walk on your side of town." Holding his gaze unblinkingly, she hoped to convey a second, more significant bargain.

Closing the space between them, he reached down for her hand. "Ia awaits. We'll take the convertible. Back before it's dark."

As they walked to the door, Scully looked up at her partner. "So, do you know much about the legends?"

"No." He gazed down at her. "Not stories specific to this island. But, I have a general idea of what to expect."

"Hum." She reached for the dead bolt lever. "Thera is the last place I'd think to find them."

He was fingering his shirt pocket. "What, think they'd flee from all the bright Mediterranean light?" Once he'd guided his designer sunglasses onto his nose, he leaned over her. "Maybe it's the nightlife which attracts them, Doctor. Think of that?"

She tucked her chin, then twisted the knob. "So we stop at the first Taverna we see, order some lemonade, and ask the proprietor for the latest straight skinny from the World of the Undead?"

Reaching over her, Mulder grasped the top of the steel door as he smirked. "Sounds like a plan."

Shaking her head, Scully turned to step out into the sunlight, but froze. A middle-aged Greek in a police uniform had raised his fist to knock just before she unbarred the entrance. After a three-way exchange of astonished glances, she frowned. "How may we help you, Sir?"

He attempted to peer around the tall agent into the darkness of the house. "Is Maximilian at home?"

Mulder hesitated. "Is there a problem, Sir?"

The officer pointed first to Scully, then to Mulder. "Might you two be the FBI Agents who were visiting the island?"

Now Mulder pushed his way in front of his partner. "Who wants to know?"

A gulp, followed by a twisting of his black wool cap. "Erm, with it being the start of the tourist season, there's a matter I'd rather clear up as quickly as possible."

Mulder grasped the knob even more firmly. "And what might that be?"

More bobbing to glimpse the interior. "Well, we've had a murder, or, at least I *think* it might be a murder, and I'd rather not have to call back to Athens for assistance, you see." He waved the cap. "Keep it out of the papers. I had heard that one of the Agents was a forensic pathologist, and..."

Scully pulled the door aside to extend her hand. "Doctor Dana Scully. How may I be of assistance?"

Mulder stared down at the top of her head. "Sculleee."

Ignoring him, she stepped back. "Please, come in."

"Here are the second set of - " Max stopped when he spied the third man in the hall. "Andreas? What's the problem?"

"Ah, something I'd rather talk about inside, if you don't mind."

Nodding, Max stepped back so the four could retire to the living room.

-o-0-o-

Fluid Dynamics Lab  
Scripps Institute of Oceanography  
La Jolla, California  
Sunday, May 3, 1998  
11:12 am

Gonzales chuckled as Jerry Donato hopped to check over the wind tunnel into the control room. "She's still there, don't worry. How does your half of the rope look?"

He held up one of the pulleys. "So far, this is the only one I've found, and only a partial thumbprint." The light flashed off the tape holding down the carbon black.

"You've had better luck than I." He held up one corner of the thick jute cord. "Maybe the lab can pull something off the rope itself, but... For now, I think that's all we'll be able to do here."

Donato nodded. "Yeah, I agree." They turned as the control room door closed.

Sandra, a plastic garbage bag crinkling between her fingers, appeared from around the far end of the tunnel. "Gentlemen, I figured you'd be needing this."

Gonzales waited for her to stand beside them. "Gentlemen. There's so much worse we've been called than that." He began feeding the frayed end into the bag she was holding open. "You've been more than helpful, Professor."

A shake of falling chestnut waves. "I just want to see this solved, Detective. Tom deserves it."

Donato frowned. "Hey, may I ask?"

She sent him a lop-sided grin. "Anytime. It was Jeannette. There's more information in the Departmental records she thinks would be of interest to us. It wasn't locked up in Tom's office, so there isn't much Judy can object to about it."

Feeling very much the odd wheel, Gonzales sighed at the exchange. "I'll stay at the precinct to see what the lab turns up, all right?"

Donato sent his gratitude with a quick glance.

Sandra nodded. "I'll just hop on the next shuttle." Donato began to protest, but she held up one hand. "No, I have some paperwork I need to dig into, and the trip will give me the time to do it. See you there." She began leading the partners from the high space.

-o-0-o-

Atlantis, Athinios City  
Santorini, Greece  
Wednesday, May 20, 1998  
8:33 am

Caroline and Max had settled into the love-seat, leaving the longer sofa for Mulder and Scully, where he had sunk into the cushions, while she was perched primly on the edge. Andreas Patikopolis, now properly introduced and somewhat more at ease, had taken over an ottoman.

After a brief glance toward her partner, Scully leaned forward. "What preliminaries can you give us, Officer Patikopolis?"

The policeman hung his cap on his knee. "Well, the call came in around six fifteen this morning, that a jogger had found a body on the beach."

"Oh?" Mulder fidgeted. "Which beach?"

"Red Beach, just south of Akrotiri."

Scully nodded encouragement. "We were there just a couple of weeks ago." Her lips twitched momentarily into an upward curve.

Mulder studied first, his partner, then, their guest. She had, almost instinctively, assumed her cool, analytical investigator persona which, as usual, was producing the desired focusing effect.

Andreas leaned forward. "The deceased was a Caucasian male, approximately thirty-five, and clothed only in a bathing suit when he was found." He spread his hands. "I've checked with the other police and First Aid stations for missing persons reports. There were two listed up at Ia, but none for someone matching this description. Before you ask, he had no ID. He looked like either an American or a European. As I said, with tourist season and all..."

"Yes." Scully nodded. "This wasn't an accidental drowning? He hadn't just gone for a late-night swim?"

"No, that was what we thought initially. But there were details that didn't add up. His hair was singed, for instance, and there were second degree burns on his abdomen, right palm, and covering both legs up to his knee."

The pathologist tucked her auburn hair behind her ear. "Ah. Lightning then? That would explain the burns."

The officer shook his head. "We haven't had storms on the island for a week. From the lack of rigor in the corpse, he'd been dead for a few hours at the most."

Mulder tapped Scully on the shoulder, then pointed into the hallway. "May we?"

After excusing themselves, he led her into the kitchen, where she stood rigid. "I want to look into this."

He was standing in front of her, toe to toe. "And I think we should let this one go. I think *you* should let this one go, Scully. Let the locals take care of it."

She reached for his wrist. "Mulder, between you and Max and Caroline, I haven't been as pampered since I passed my medical boards."

His lips pulled into a grimace as he remembered Margaret Scully's story of a bed-ridden Dana enduring a week-long migraine, but he said nothing.

She released his arm. "I'm feeling better than I've felt in a long, long time, thanks to the three of you. I feel like I need to do something to show my gratitude. Even if it's just a cursory exam, not a full-blown autopsy, it might turn up something that would be of help."

Mulder edged away from her to begin prowling the darkened room. "It's too soon, Scully, you need to rest."

She stepped up to block his path. "All right. I'll make this deal with you. One trip to examine the body, that's all. A hour or so, then I'll come back here, put my feet up in one of Max's delightful chaise lounges, and let you give me another of those massages you're so good at. Fair enough?"

A shrug, then he offered his acquiescence with a jibe. "Would the red Speedo or black leather meet with the Lady's pleasure?"

Turning, she tossed her head. "I was rather thinking without either, myself."

-o-0-o-

along Expedition Way  
University of California at San Diego  
San Diego, California  
Sunday, May 3, 1998  
11:43 am

With a sigh, Donato stepped on the brake pedal. He had been crawling in a line of traffic from the lab warehouse to Sandra's department building. They had almost reached North Torrey Pines Road, where there seemed to be some cluster of people. If it were freshman check-in or commencement, the stoppages wouldn't have surprised him. But this was a normal Sunday morning a couple of weeks before exams. He should have been able to breeze around the campus with impunity. Squinting at the line of cars in front of him, he could make out the back of a dingy grey van, with letters spelling out 'Scripps Shuttle' adhering across the rear window. Actually, the first word was missing an 'i,' the second a 't,'but he knew what it was, all the same. He wondered if this was the shuttle Sandra was on, then frowned at the thin line up ahead. The side doors had opened to permit its passengers to disembark. When he spotted her chestnut curls, he stuck his arm out the window to wave at her while he shouted what he hoped would be taken as a joke. "Doctor Miller, I presume!" His grin faded in horror at the reaction of the protesters.

"Killer Miller!" One of the group, who had been waving a poster of puppies in a cage, began scanning the passengers for her. "Killer Miller is here!" Protesters and passengers tangled up placards and book bags, as Sandra scanned around for him. He shoved the car into park, pulled on the emergency brake, than ran down the sidewalk to grab her by the arm. "This way!"

She jogged beside him easily, but one glance over her shoulder had her pulling slightly ahead. "They're coming!" She waved her arm jerkily behind her.

Jerry hustled her inside the car, then repaired to the driver's side just as the group arrived. He waved his badge in the face of the bearded man who had threatened Sandra earlier. "What's the protest about?"

Sandra threw her arms over her head as the sedan was rocked from side to side. "It's the usual group that hangs around outside the Department of Biosciences. They're against testing on animals and using them as teaching aides. I know they have a permit and all, but this has gotten out of hand."

Jerry began gunning the engine, hoping to back a few away. "Why are they after you? Killer Miller?"

"Blood Money!" The man was waving an identically-worded placard. "You take money from killers! You're a killer!" A hairline crack appeared in the glass.

When the bearded man began pounding on the windshield, she doubled over, her forehead on her knees. "I don't know! It's not like we took money from any of the groups they would be concerned with."

"That's it!" Jerry slammed his portable siren light on the dashboard, then shouted a warning to Sandra. "Cover your ears!" He flipped the switch.

The assembled crowd began shouting more forcefully, but the tight gathering of protesters around the unmarked police vehicle had removed the blockage stopping traffic. The students and faculty trapped in the Weiss Forum and Theatre made a dash for their cars, while the van had long since disappeared. Since the way was clear for Donato to go, he gunned the engine again to take it.

After being chased for a block or two, the protesters went back to the circling rally, so Donato took the break to roll the car to a halt. He'd have to have the Department's mechanics look at the windshield. He left the car to peer at the crack, only to turn when the passenger door opened. "You sure you're okay, Sandra?"

Nodding, she sank to the curb. "Yes. Just shaken and confused. Our building occasionally sees some anti-nuclear protesters, but nothing like this."

He dropped a hand to her back. "Okay. I'll talk around the precinct and see what this is about. You ready?"

Rising, she pulled her hair behind her shoulders. "Yes. Let's go."

-o-0-o-

outside Mayer Hall  
University of California at San Diego  
San Diego, California  
Sunday, May 3, 1998  
12:11 pm

Donato pointed up the parking lot. "That way?" He waited for the brunette professor, who had been slumped on one of the benches that ringed the lot, to step out ahead of him. But, she was leaning against the car, so he hurried to her side. "What's wrong? Are you okay?"

Wearing a tense look he hadn't seen from her before, she shook her head. "I just have an odd feeling about all this, that's all. We're close to something, I only wish I knew what." She squared her shoulders, then headed for the building at the top of the hill.

Jeannette met then at the door. "I'm glad Doctor Williams isn't here today. I don't know what to make of his papers."

"Whose papers?" Donato leaned over her shoulder. "If you've been into Tom Wilton's office, I'm afraid we're wasting our time here."

Jeannette shook her head impatiently. "No, I mean the Departmental funding records. Remember those photos you found, Sandie?"

The chestnut-haired professor glanced over at Donato before she answered. "Yes? What about them?"

"I was thinking of that potential sponsor at the faculty retreat. It seems he was giving money to the university, after all." She handed a folder to Sandra, who let out a gasp after she opened it.

"He *was* funding Tom and me, or so he thought. But, we were never seeing any of the money. Unlike what those nut cases were shouting." She turned the pages. "I know that for a fact."

Donato peered over her shoulder. "As do I. With his pulling money out of his retirement funds..."

Jeannette frowned. "What? Doctor Wilton was keeping - "

Sandra nodded. "I didn't know, Jeannie. I thought everything was all right. We had the wind tunnel paid for, and there were extra students we were carrying, at least according to the departmental books."

The secretary blinked. "But, that's fraud! If Stanford couldn't get away with it, how did Doctor - "

"How did Doctor what?" An older man, whom Donato took, by Sandra and Jeanette's reactions, to be the Department Head, was standing in the doorway. "I just came in to finish up a speech this afternoon, and I find the two of you here." He pointed at Jerry. "Who, may I ask, are you?"

The detective flipped open his police ID.

The older man crossed his arms. "I presume you have a warrant?"

Donato dug in his jacket pocket, then lifted a slender folder free. His eyes canted toward Sandra, who had only deepened her stare at the Department Head. She must have been all the Furies combined in faculty meetings, he realized. No wonder Williams was perfectly happy to leave them hanging financially. Or was there another reason for the white-haired man's animosity? A guilty conscience, perhaps?

"All right, so you know." Williams waved the offending papers away, giving Jerry the excuse he needed to tuck them out of sight with alacrity. "But, there's technically no wrong-doing here. You two were so stand-offish with the fellow, and he seemed so eager to give money away, that I convinced him to contribute to the department at large instead. I gave him the understanding that the money would be available to you both, should you be needing it, which you obviously didn't."

"What!" Sandra stalked right up into his face. "John, Tom was dipping into his retirement fund! Were you aware of that?"

His watery brown eyes met her hazel ones squarely. "Why should I be? You two were notoriously unforthcoming on your own. I may have opposed your wind tunnel initially, but the last thing I want is for one of the most successful programs in the department to go under, Sandra."

"'Scuse, me, Doctor Williams." A janitor, pushing a mop bucket ahead of him, grasped the beaten aluminum handle. "I'd like to get into your office, if you don't mind. With how busy and important you always are, this is my only chance to get those imported marble tiles of yours really, really clean." He flashed a shy smile at Sandra. "Hello, Doctor Miller."

Donato wondered if the chestnut-haired woman was at all aware of the effect she seemed to have on the men of the department.

"Hello, Andy." She smiled back. "Thanks for your help with the breaker box."

He bustled past them. "No problem. I still haven't figured out what happened, though. I keep thinkin' about it, too."

Donato watched the three wait until the little man in coveralls had closed the door behind him before resuming their discussion.

Sandra crossed her arms. "Well, John? What do you know about Tom's death?"

"Just what I read in the newspapers, Sandra." He glanced at the detective. "I'm assuming that's why you're here?"

Donato rested a hand on the brunette professor's shoulder momentarily, an old gesture he had used to give Maria the all-clear. He was relieved to feel her muscles relax under his touch. "Yes, Sir, it is. And, funding seems to be at the heart of this case, so I'd like you to answer a few questions for me."

Doctor Williams glared down at Donato. "What? Am I a suspect here?" He pointed at Sandra. "Why isn't she? Does your Sergeant know you're here? I doubt that warrant gives you the authority to impound Departmental files."

Donato's thumb popped the leather catch off his SIG. "Yes, he does. As does my partner, whom I'm expecting will call momentarily with lab results." As he had hoped, Sandra nodded a furious agreement.

"There were fingerprints found at the scene, John, and his partner's having them typed now. Or would you like to save us the trouble and confess?"

"What?" Williams was roaring in his confused anger. "You'll be hearing from my lawyer, all three of you. Jeanette! I don't want to see you here tomorrow!" He pointed to her desk. "Clean that out, now!"

"No!" Sandra grabbed his arm. "That's not fair!"

Williams yanked his wrist free. "What, haven't you learned yet, Professor Miller? Life isn't fair!" He snarled at the three, then headed out the door.

Jeannette was sobbing uncontrollably, gulping as she stammered a protest. "Doctor Miller, I need this job! Jennifer's medical bills are too much for Bill's salary alone."

Sandra rubbed her shoulder. "You won't lose your job, Jeannie." She glared at the front door. "This can still turn out all right. You'll see."

Donato sighed. "Maybe we've seen enough here, Sandra. I need to interview the staff, but that will have to wait, at least until tomorrow."

The chestnut-haired woman nodded. "Perhaps we have. Williams isn't well-liked, Detective, which should give you an in to ask questions." She rested her hand on Jeannette's shoulder. "Jeannie?"

The secretary looked up from the desk. "Yes?"

Sandra was rubbing her friend's back gently. "Would you do us a favor and spread the word about what happened here today among the staff? A few phone calls, that sort of thing?"

She dabbed at her eyes. "Why, yes, of course. Do you think that would help?"

Sandra smiled. "With both your problem and mine." She turned as the inner office door opened.

The janitor's eyes were bulging. "That's not fair!"

Donato leaned back, watching the drama unfold through the eyes of a well-trained detective. It seemed the chestnut-haired professor would do most of his work for him.

Sandra shook her head solemnly. "No, it isn't. Which is why we need to find out what happened to Tom, Andy."

"Oh." The janitor swished the mop around in the dark water.

Donato eyed the other man curiously. Was this a hint of jealousy?

Sandra had walked over to him. "If you'd pass the word along, too, it would help out Jeannette, and Tom."

Andy flushed, the rest of his face reddening to match his nose. "Yes, Ma'am, I will."

Donato smiled as he left. "I'd better head back to check on what Richard's turned up. You'll be all right, Sandra?"

She nodded. "Jeannie can run me home."

-o-0-o-

Police Building  
Phira, Santorini, Greece  
Wednesday, May 20, 1998  
10:03 am

Officer Patikopolis waved at the room. "I'm sorry, but this is the best we have for a morgue." A single window air conditioner was protesting the hours set to maximum with occasional whines and rumbles, but the tiny back room was suitably cooled.

Wearing only a thin polo shirt and khakis, Mulder crossed his arms. "We've been in odder places than this."

Ignoring the complaint, Scully pulled back the sheet. "Mulder, take a look at this guy."

With a grimace, he studied the face. "You recognize him too?"

She nodded, then turned to the policeman. "I don't know if you've found out anything about who he is, but I can tell you that he is, or was, a suspect in a crime." She rolled the sheet back to expose the corpse down to its waist. "I had failed to apprehend him a few weeks ago while he was attempting to kidnap a young boy."

Patikopolis was scratching on a note pad. "Can you tell me the name of the woman?"

Mulder shook his head. "We only know her son was named Richard." He waved at the body. "This guy tried to grab the kid."

The officer nodded. "That's good. I'll go check the log, see if anyone reported the attempted theft."

Mulder shrugged. "Probably not. It's the sort of thing vacationers would rather forget."

Scully glanced at her partner. "If no one did, then check with the tour guides for Akrotiri. The guy ran through a group while we were there. I suspect anyone else who was visiting the ruins at the time has probably finished with vacation and returned home." Her gaze settled on the body. "I thought you said rigor hadn't set in?"

Andreas stepped up beside her. "I didn't leave him this way. His arms and legs were straight."

Scully attempted to move one of the clenched hands. "This isn't natural. Occasionally muscles contract as if activated by static discharge, moving limbs into new positions, but the displacement is usually in translation only, not in rotation."

A grimacing Mulder joined them. "So, one of your deputies thought it would be cute to cross his arms as if this were a mummy. What?"

His partner was sniffing the clenched hands. "No. Not perfume." Turning for her bag, she wiggled her fingers into a pair of latex gloves. "I'd like..." Lifting out a scalpel, she slid it against the palm, then scraped away flakes of blue powder. "Mulder, if you wouldn't mind. Thanks."

He was holding open a bag for her. "Blue? What do you think? A painter?"

She shook her head, then eased the scalpel into the other palm to extract several yellow grains. After staring at both bags for a moment, she flipped the corpse onto its side. "There are no red grains on the shoulders." She eased down the suit. "Nor any on the lining here."

Mulder glanced at the back of the stiff legs. "Or down here." He looked over at Patikopolis. "You said he was found on the beach? I know the sand on Red Beach is coarse, but there should have been some clinging - Hey, Scully, take a look at this." His nose was nearly touching the back of the victim's knees.

She crouched under his head. "Those triangular punctures, here, and here?" Pushing on the skin around the marks, she let out a soft "Oh" as clear fluids eased out, then wrinkled her nose. "Sulfurous. Lymph fluid shouldn't have an aroma, nor should there be oozing this many hours after death. It may be salt water, but that should be salty, not like this."

Mulder stepped back. "There's more going on here than we thought, Scully."

She turned to look up at him. "We should talk to the jogger who found the body. Maybe that will help clear this up."

Pointing his chin at the corpse, Mulder grunted. "I'll take care of the jogger. See you in a few."

With a wave, she turned to her bag for a tape recorder and surgical tools.

-o-0-o-

Mayer Hall 4123  
University of California at San Diego  
Sunday, May 3, 1998  
10:17 pm

When she heard a noise from the corridor, Sandra hauled her head out from the bottom shelf of her bookcase.

"Hello, Doctor Miller." He used that same reticent whisper he always used around her.

She smiled at the man pushing the mop bucket. "Hello, Andy." She glanced at her watch. "Why are you still here?"

As he began working on the tiles in the hallway, he shrugged. "Oh, two of the maintenance workers called in sick, so I helped out with fixing up the gardens around the building. But, there are still all these floors to do." His speech fell into rhythm with the wide sweeps of his mop.

She sat back on her haunches. "You shouldn't be working so hard, Andy."

He stopped to lean on the handle. "Neither should you, Doctor Miller. At least I get paid for it when I do. Are you working on another proposal?"

She shook her head. "I'm just trying to rectify Tom's and my accounting records. Even with the funds he was transferring from his retirement, there's still something that just doesn't add up."

He resumed cleaning. "Oh, money. I'll never be able to keep numbers straight like you guys can." He reddened visibly. "You're all so smart."

"Andy, what's wrong?"

A loud metallic clang sounded in the nearly empty hallway as the aluminum handle hit the floor.

Sandra ran to the janitor's side, where he was crouched, sobbing. "Andy?"

He tried to wave her away.

She bent over him, then knelt beside him. "What's wrong, tell me."

"I've done a terrible thing, Doctor Miller." He hiccuped. As he covered his face with his hands, his checkbook fell from his lapel pocket.

Sandra picked it up, expecting to just hand it back to him, but it was open at the register sheets, which, she realized at a glance, were blank. "Andy?" She grasped his shoulder. "Are you overdrawn at the bank? Why didn't you tell someone?"

His tears abating, he looked over at her. "I, I don't know. Doctor Wilton used to help me with that."

She thumbed through the earlier pages until she found Tom's numbers, tiny and round, in the right column. "You've entered in everything properly, just not tallied it all up. Here, let me." Taking his arm, she led him into her office, where she settled him in her new visitor's chair. "Wait here while I take care of this for you."

He folded onto the cushions as he watched and waited.

Once finished, she looked up, then smiled. "See, you're okay. You actually have several hundred dollars to your credit." She handed the black folder back to him. "You might want to consider investing some of that in your retirement fund. I can help you with the paperwork, if you like."

He sent her a shy grin in thanks, then rose. "I'll do that, Doctor Miller. Doctor Wilton would always tell me that, too."

After he resumed mopping, she returned to her search, but felt an odd twinge in the back of her neck. "Oh." Then she felt nothing more.

-o-0-o-

Residence of Jerry Donato  
105 Enders Avenue, Apartment 2B  
San Diego, California  
Monday, May 4, 1998  
1:03 am

Donato groaned as his pager, cell, and bedside phones all shrilled simultaneously. "Okay, okay, I'm up." He fumbled with the cell, dropped it, then pressed the grey receiver on his face. "Donato. Go." He was swaying on still-numb feet as he waited.

"Jerry, it's Rich. I thought you'd want to know. Sandra Miller was assaulted in her office late last night. Dispatch just called me. You must sleep like the dead, or something. They couldn't rouse you."

The thick-chested detective rubbed the back of his neck. "Which hospital?" He couldn't shake feeling like his mouth was carpeted with lint.

"Scripps Memorial."

"What's her condition?" He was tugging up a pair of khakis he had worn the day before with one hand. The comforting weight of his wallet and ID reminded him that he had simply dropped these clothes on the floor before he fell into bed the previous evening.

"Don't know. There's a black and white handling the routine questioning at the University. I'm on my way over. Meet you at the hospital?"

"Yeah. Thanks." Donato fished a clean pair of socks out of his top drawer, threw a shirt over his shoulders, clipped on his SIG, then, socks and running shoes dangling from his fingers, headed out his front door.

-o-0-o-

Police Building  
Phira, Santorini, Greece  
Wednesday, May 20, 1998  
3:29 pm

Scully barely looked up from the opened chest cavity as Mulder reentered the room. "I can tell you the cause of death: severe head trauma. From the damage to the skull, I'd say he took five or six blows, as least. So, anything?"

Mulder stepped to her side. "Nothing substantial. The jogger was an overweight accountant from Toledo on a second honeymoon. Just to eliminate any extreme possibilities, I've sent the witness's name to the Gunmen to check out. If there's anything left of him, we'll take a photo of the stiff here for them to run through their systems as well. You?"

When she felt cloth brush her elbow, she glanced back at her partner. "Jacket, Mulder? Or should I say Thomas?"

He cocked his head. "I knew I was coming back here. So?"

She peeled back the lips to reveal several broken teeth. "You think this was someone attempting to conceal his identity?"

Mulder's lip curled. "Then why leave the face or fingertips undamaged? It might have happened during a struggle, or a fall."

"Perhaps." She slit open the left lung. "Notice anything unusual?"

Mulder shook his head. "Not if he breathes fire as an occupation. I presume the right lung is seared like that as well?" He bent closer to her ear. "Could it be that my skeptical lady partner has brought me a case of incipient spontaneous human combustion?"

Ignoring the challenge, she walked to the other side of the examining table. "Does spontaneous human combustion explain this?" She held up the stomach, still intact, with forceps pinching off the esophagus and duodenum. Turning the organ on end over a beaker, she opened the esophagus, then waited until the stomach contents emptied into the glass container.

Mulder grimaced at the strong sulfur odor, then his eyes glinted. "Well, Scully, I think the oddities of this case have a rational, if extreme explanation." He bounced on his toes.

Scully balanced the stomach on the beaker. "I may not want to hear this, but, okay, I'm listening."

He danced around the corpse to drape an arm over her shoulders. "This is a resident of the lost Continent of Atlantis, which is why no one reported him missing. As an Atlantean, he could both breath air and water. He was here to steal children because his people have lost the ability to reproduce. But, since his land sunk underwater, the air up top has become far, far more polluted and his delicate lungs began to burn. So, he took the time to change into a bathing suit, take a ferry to Nea Kamini, and jump in the hot springs, in an effort to return to his home. But, overcome, he expired, and the currents carried him around the island to Red Beach." He blinked innocently at her.

She cocked her head. "Mulder, now we're back to the usual level of insanity I've come to expect from you. But you are right about one thing. Nea and Palea Kamini have the only hot springs I know of." She gestured at the corpse. "I'm almost through here. You want to hang around?"

He shook his head. "I'll give Mom a call to let her know what's happened." He moved to the door.

She snapped on a clean pair of latex gloves. "Looks like the massage will have to wait."

"Scully, you *wound* me. Some things should never wait." He flashed a grin over his shoulder just before he disappeared.

-o-0-o-

Third Floor  
Scripps Memorial Hospital  
La Jolla, California  
Monday, May 4, 1998  
1:49 am

Jerry Donato held up his badge as he approached the nurse's station. "I'm looking for Sandra Miller's room. She's a material witness in a murder investigation."

The nurse glanced over at the waiting area before she responded. "She's in Room 304, just down the hall. Last door on your left."

He raced down the corridor, spun into the doorway, then pulled himself to a halt. Judy Wilton glanced up at him, but refused to relinquish the fierce clutch she had caught of her unconscious friend's hand.

"It's not fair, Detective. I can't lose both of them so soon." She dropped her gaze to Sandra's still face.

Jerry stepped over beside her. "What did the physicians tell you?"

Judy rubbed her eye. "A severe concussion. Sandra's lucky to be alive. Do you know who did this, Detective?"

He shrugged. "My partner's at the scene now, Ma'am. He'll be heading over here when he's finished, but I just wanted to check on her before then. If I may ask?"

Judy nodded. "Jeannette called me. Sandra had wanted to finish up some new grant applications, but she needed someone to feed Salazar. He *knows* me, you see, so he'd eat." She smiled wanly. "Tom and I had argued with her about working so late on a regular basis, even though she only lives in University City. Neither of us liked to think about her cycling home in the dark. I waited for her to call, but when she didn't, I drove over to Mayer Hall to check on her."

"You found her?" Jerry rested his hand on her shoulder.

"Yes, I did. Her doctor said there were two blows, low on the back of the head. They're worried about paralysis, even though she twitches her feet when they tickle them." A quiet sob escaped her. "I've been so hard on her, and all she wanted to do was find out who killed Tom."

"Don't feel like that, Doctor Seymour-Wilton. Grief makes people do strange things." He moved to the opposite side of the bed to take Sandra's free hand. "But, other than that, no further injuries? What about the bruise on her forehead?"

Judy sighed. "It happened when she slumped over onto the floor. They're monitoring her for, for, I can't remember the exact terminology."

"The words don't matter. What it is, is swelling of the brain. If it's too bad, they'll have to operate. For now, they're just administering drugs intravenously."

Surprised, Judy looked over. "How do you know?"

He shook his head, old tears stinging his eyes.

"It's what happened to your Maria, isn't it? Sandra told me what little she knew when she tried to talk me out of the lawsuit against your department. I'm sorry, Detective."

He shrugged. "I'd better be on my way, Ma'am." He smoothed Sandra's fingers out flat on the sheets, stroked the back of her hand once, then turned to the door. He was down the hall, then the stairs, almost to the front entrance when he was stopped by a hand on his left shoulder.

Gonzales continued to grip him. "Jerry? We need your help at the scene. You've interviewed some of the people who were there before." At his partner's somber expression, he jerked his head toward the interior. "Catch me up on the medical details once we're in the car, all right?"

-o-0-o-

Police Building  
Phira, Santorini, Greece  
Wednesday, May 20, 1998  
4:08 pm

Scully was just tying off the Y incision when Mulder reappeared. No matter how long he had been away from them, his queasiness remained unvanquished, so he was perfectly willing to leave his partner to finish on her own.

"They've found the tour guide."

She dropped a pair of forceps onto a metal tray. "Good. Does she remember us?"

Mulder shrugged. "I waited to talk to her until you were done." He arched both eyebrows at her surgical garb.

She cocked a finger at him, then stepped into the closet-sized bathroom. She was smoothing down her hair as she emerged. "So, what did Caroline say?"

Mulder opened the door for her. "Just that she'll have something ready for us when we get back."

As the partners proceeded to the witness room, Scully nodded. "She's right. The last ferry to Nea left over an hour ago. We'll have to pick this up tomorrow."

Mulder grasped her side to halt her progress. "She's in there."

Scully nodded to the black-haired woman she barely remembered.

But the guide gasped, then rose at the diminutive agent's sudden appearance. "It's you! Are you all right?"

As she studied the papers on the battered table, the pathologist waved the question away. "Miss Androkiri, I'm certain the officer who escorted you here has informed you, but let me reiterate, you are not a suspect in any crime. We are interviewing you simply because we want you to answer a few questions for an on-going police investigation."

The woman nodded. "Andreas told me the dead man is the one who attacked you, Agent Scully."

Scully arched a disapproving eyebrow at the Greek officer before turning back to Androkiri. "Do you remember seeing him hanging around the ruins, either in the time before or after the attempt on the woman and her son?"

The guide shook her head. "We try to keep an eye out for suspicious types, loners like he was." She glanced at her hands, which were clutching her purse in her lap. "Tourism is the island's life's blood."

From his arms-crossed slouch against the wall, Mulder continued the interrogation. "Then the mother and child. Had they been there before?"

The guide shook her head. "But..." She bit her lip.

Scully leaned forward. "Yes?"

The woman licked her lips. "My brother runs a shop in Akrotiri Town. I help out there sometimes, when I'm off-duty, you understand."

Mulder began pacing. "And?"

"The mother and the toddler came through, with a man who looked considerably older than she, just the day after." The black-haired woman frowned. "I remember, because I asked her if she and the boy were all right, and the woman told me she didn't know what I was talking about."

Scully shifted on her seat. "Didn't know, or didn't want the man with her to be aware of the problem? Did she seem uncomfortable in the presence of her companion?"

The guide shook her head. "Not at all. The three were joking and laughing, and the man was carrying the toddler around. The boy kept calling the man his grandfather. Gampy, or something. You know what trouble children that age have with long words."

Mulder bit his lip, then turned to the officer. "They were Americans, or at least she was, from the accent. Does your airport keep video records that far back?"

The officer shook his head. "We're not that efficient here. This isn't your country. Besides..."

"There are many different ways off the island." Scully finished for him.

The officer offered her a shaky smile of gratitude.

Mulder sighed. "Then, there's not much we can follow up on along that line of inquiry." He offered the black-haired woman his most disarming smile. "Thank you for your time, Ma'am. If you remember anything else, no matter how insignificant, please call the officers here, or stop by this address." He handed her a card. "Someone should be there to talk to you."

As the four of them left the small office, Scully turned to Patikopolis. "I presume you have cold-storage for short-term use?" She waited for his nod. "Then keep the body here for a few days. I doubt anyone will be along to claim it, and I may need to reexamine it."

He shrugged his assent, then escorted the guide to his police cruiser, while the partners headed for Max's convertible.

-o-0-o-

Phira Port  
Santorini, Greece  
Thursday, May 21, 1998  
8:37 am

Mulder stared at the short queue of tourists waiting for the next cruise boat. "What makes you think he left from here, Scully?"

Wondering if this was his usual queasiness at going afloat talking, Scully flicked her eyes at his whine. "I don't, Mulder." She met his downward glance with a shrug. "This is just the closest port, and the easiest way to start."

Suddenly resolute, he nodded. "At least the ticketing agent *thought* he recognized the stiff."

She cocked her head. "Mulderrr, the dead all deserve - "

He grasped her waist. "Scully, not all of them throw my partner down a ramp and nearly break her neck while they were still alive. If we were back in DC, you know Skinner would yank this one out of our hands like the hounds of hell were on his tail."

One cheek creased. "Or would he?" He was checking her face in confusion so she teased back. "DC may have its share of odd characters, but it's a safe bet that none of them are Atlanteans." Since the rest of the passengers had loaded, she, holding aloft a pale Polaroid, stepped up to the Captain. "I'm Agent Dana Scully with the American Federal Bureau of Investigations, and this is my partner, Agent Mulder. We're investigating the death of this individual, but we must first determine his identity." She waited while he took the photo to study it.

The Captain nodded, then handed the thick print back to her. "I remember him. That double dimple, one depression above the other, is fairly distinctive."

Mulder leaned over his partner. "Do you remember when you last saw him? Did he take the full Volcano Tour?"

A quick nod as the uniformed man waved the boat underway. "Yes, it was about a week ago. He had paid for the full day tour, but got off at Thirasia. He did not return aboard my boat." He pointed to the benches. "If you would be so kind."

The partners nodded their thanks, handed over their tickets, then settled in for the short voyage.

-o-0-o-

Mayer Hall  
University of California at San Diego  
San Diego, California  
Monday, May 4, 1998  
3:21 am

"I didn't think there would be many here at this time of morning." Jerry sighed.

Gonzales chuckled. "I think you'd be surprised." He pulled up to the front access for the building. When the partners were inside, the Latino detective pointed toward the Department Head's spacious office. "We'd gathered them all together in there."

Jerry glanced over as they entered. "So, do you have the same feeling I do, Richard?"

The Latino detective eyed the six people, all waiting uncomfortably in the Director's over-sized chairs. "Like we're in that murder mystery after all? Yup, sure do." He pointed to the white-haired man Jerry recognized from that afternoon. "Professor John Williams, Department Head."

The older man crossed his arms. "We've met."

Sergeant Johnson straightened by the door. "We'll need to talk, Detective."

Donato suspected, by the smug expression Williams wore, that the subject of his warrant, or lack of one, had already been broached. He nodded to Anwar and the Chinese woman whom he remembered from the first night of interviews. "Why are you two here so late?"

Ming-son's reply was in a barely audible whisper. "We have to give presentations on thesis today. For other students."

Anwar nodded. "We had finished speaking with Doctor Miller not more than an hour before, Detective Donato. She was very apologetic she hadn't been able to help us more, given the past few days."

"Let me explain." An African-American rose from the couch closest to the Department Head's desk. "I'm Professor Nigel Wilson." He stuck out his hand. "My specialty's magnetohydrodynamics. Ming-son's working for me." He smiled gently at the tiny woman, who began studying her hands shyly. "Every Monday afternoon, two of the students present current results to their peers. It's mandatory for the others to attend and ask questions. It's good experience giving presentations and fielding comments."

Donato had been flipping through his pad. "But I thought..."

Ming-son looked up. "I go to work for Doctor Wilson once, erm, Doctor Wilton..."

The thick-chested detective nodded. "I see." He looked up at Wilson. "And you?"

Wilson sighed. "Working on grants, just like Sandra. I'm on a different floor, but I didn't leave my office from the time I arrived around eight until the time I heard the first police sirens." He shook his head. "And, before you ask, I don't have any witnesses to verify that."

An outburst of Spanish had all heads turning to the remaining two witnesses, an Hispanic man and woman, both dressed in the coveralls Donato recognized as belonging to the janitorial staff.

Gonzales initiated a rapid-fire interrogation in the couple's preferred language.

Donato shifted uncomfortably. Despite his years with Maria, he'd never bothered to pick up more than a rudimentary fluency with this second tongue. He'd always just assumed she'd be there to handle things for them both. As he watched, the three were gesturing, answers beginning sometimes before the question finished. The woman's high-pitched voice rang in the stillness of their surroundings.

A concluding nod, then Gonzales turned. "Well, they can vouch for Wilson. She cleaned the bathrooms on his floor around eleven, he mopped about an hour later. That was just before Doctor Miller was attacked." He waited through another flurry of commentary from the woman. "The elevators are shut down at that time of night, so anyone would have had to use the stairs."

"Then how?" Jerry pointed to the over-sized mop buckets.

The man held up one member of a ring of keys. "Service Elevator."

Johnson stepped forward. "Then, that's all I think we need from you. Please keep yourselves available for any further questions my detectives may need to put to you." He waited for the six to file out before he rounded on Donato. "What did you think you were doing, trying to bluff a Department Head like that?"

The thick-chested detective shrugged. "He never asked to see the warrant, just accepted that it was real. He's guilty of something. I know it."

Johnson rubbed his chin. "Perhaps. But, we need proof, Detectives. Stop by his home later today and see what you can find. With what you told me yesterday afternoon about his behavior and the money, it makes him our prime suspect."

The partners exchanged a glance, then nodded.

-o-0-o-

Santorini Bay  
Santorini, Greece  
Thursday, May 21, 1998  
10:21 am

"So, if you were to leave the Bureau, what would you do, Scully?" The partners were standing at the bow of the small cruise boat ferrying them to Nea Kameni.

Scully pushed her hair off her face, then sighed. "I don't know, Mulder."

He shifted until he was as close to her as he could stand without touching her. "I don't see you as a county pathologist, not anymore."

She lowered her gaze from the dark island growing in front of them to the blue and white striped railing she was grasping. "Neither do I," she whispered. Focusing on the gold flecks in his eyes, she bit her lip. "I've always just assumed I'd be working the X-Files with you until we both retired from the Bureau."

Mulder sent her a hollow glance. "I'd like to assume that, too." He covered her fingers with his palm. "Then, since we've both assumed it, just stay."

She closed her eyes. "I wish it were that easy. I can't let you down. There's so much that remains to be completed in our work."

He nodded. "And so much that only you can do."

She leaned out over the water. "You give me too much credit, Mulder."

He eased his chest against her shoulder. "That's because you don't give yourself enough, Scully."

There was silence for a long moment.

Mulder rested his elbows on the railing, taking the opportunity to check his partner's face. She had been blinking rapidly, but, under his scrutiny, set her expression into a stoic mask.

He cocked his head. "Could we at least keep in touch?"

She inhaled deeply. "I'd like th - " She turned to him. "No. That wouldn't work. If we talked, I'd find myself wanting to work with you, offering my advice. And I'd be putting you in danger of suffering because of my failings all over again."

Suddenly angry, he grasped her elbow. "So, it's okay for me to put your life in danger, every day we work together, but the same doesn't hold for you, Agent Scully?"

She blinked at him uncomprehendingly. "Mulder? What do you mean?"

He crossed his arms, then turned his back to her. "Never mind. It's something that happened long ago. Ancient history."

She moved in front of him, only to find he was staring at his Nikes. "Mulder? Tell me."

He shook his head.

Grasping both of his wrists, she tried to bring her face under his. "What? When?"

He simply gazed at her, blinking away tears. "It was while you were gone."

She nodded once. "Go on."

He glanced out at the island. "Skinner asked me - " He bit his lip. "Skinner *told* me to let you go. That you were an officer of the law, that you knew the risks of the job when you took the badge. I asked him what if, what if I hadn't told you all the risks before you came to work with me?"

She stepped closer to him. "But, Mulder, Skinner was right. I *did* know the risks." As his eyes flashed a surprised protest, she nodded. "I never told you all that Blevins briefed me on before I joined you. I know it was strongly hinted to you that I was a spy, sent to debunk your work. But, you know me better by now; I'm not the sort of person who takes delight in destruction. I'm a doctor. I want to heal, to protect. Blevins told me there were powerful men who wanted to see you fail, Mulder. He appealed to me, as your fellow agent, and an officer of the law, to use reason to find the truth about your work. He knew I would expose a fraud, or protect someone wrongly accused."

He stepped away from her. "That's all well and good, Scully, but, *he* was there, pulling strings, wasn't he?"

She shook her head. "Not always. I noticed Blevins would clam up whenever the Smoker appeared. It was as if there was a different agenda at work."

Mulder blinked at the water. "I never knew."

She leaned against his arm. "It was better for you, for the work, if you hadn't. I realized that on our first case. If the men opposing us suspected we were collaborating against them, they would have seen to it we were separated sooner than we were, before we developed a working partnership."

He assumed that haunted expression he always wore when he remembered the events of her abduction.

She reached out to rub his elbow. "Tell me, what did Skinner say?"

Mulder found he could only whisper. "He said, that in that case, I was as responsible for your disappearance as the men who took you."

"No!"

He looked up in surprise as she hugged him quickly, then released him. "Scully?"

"That's *not* fair, Mulder. He should never have told you that. You should never have had to carry that around in silence all this time. If we were partners investigating organized crime or in drug interdiction, the risk of disclosure and death would have been the same." She shook her head. "No, it would have been less than it is now, or even then. And the stakes, for everyone, are so much higher. Let it go, here, now. Don't hold onto that pain anymore."

He shifted close to her again. "Then, stay. If I'm willing to accept the risks of working with a human being, made of flesh and bone, who gets tired or needs to step away occasionally, then why can't you?"

She turned to face the fast-approaching dock. "When you put it like that, I don't know what to say, Mulder."

He grasped her waist with one hand, flashing a hesitant smile at the curls whipping in the breeze. "Good. Then there's hope."

She tucked her chin. "Hope."

-o-0-o-

Williams Residence  
San Diego, California  
Monday, May 4, 1998  
7:03 pm

Jerry Donato rubbed his eyes.

"Not enough sleep, old man?" Gonzales sent the gibe with a grin.

The thick-chested detective in the driver's seat snorted. "Yeah. I've never been able to catch up after an early morning stint." He cocked an eyebrow at his partner. "Even in my salad days." He pointed. "So, is that the place?"

The Latino detective checked his note pad, then the address by the front door of the rambler, which was just visible through stands of pine. "Looks like it. You'd think a department head would have a bigger house than this."

Donato turned off the engine. "Sandra explained that the job rotates among the full professors every two years. She could hardly wait for this one's term to be over."

Gonzales shrugged out of his seat belt. "I'll bet."

Donato checked that his partner had joined him before he pressed the ornate brass doorbell. They had their ID's at the ready when one of the double doors was unlocked.

"Yes?" The voice belonged to a tiny, white-haired woman. "May I help you?"

Jerry mused that she looked exactly as he expected a successful professor's wife should, serious, ordered, well-kept. He drew on his best peace officer's smile. "Yes, Ma'am. Is Doctor Williams at home?"

She stepped back as she waved them in. "Yes, he's in his study. Let me show you the way."

As they walked, Donato noted that the walls were chock-a-block with canvases of all shapes and sizes. He admired the high level of craft in the lighting of the scenes, either seascapes or careful studies of interiors. Surprised to note that each lacked a human figure for either scale or subject, he trotted up beside her. "Pardon me, Ma'am, but who's the art collector in the family?"

She tittered. "Not collector. Painter. These are pieces I couldn't sell at my last show."

"Oh?" He glanced at the densely layered oils. "Sandra told me that Judy Wilton paints. Do you know anything about her work?"

All pretense of conviviality fell from her face. "A little." She hurried ahead of them to a set of paneled oak doors. Once standing in the hall, an antique grandfather clock clicking away the minutes, she called out to someone in the room. "John, there are two detectives here to see you."

He looked up from his paper-bound, turquoise and white journal. "Ah, yes, we met this morning." He waved them to a claw-footed sofa along one wall. "What may I do for you this evening? I have no wish to hide anything from the police."

Donato mentally contrasted this genial host with the angry professor he had met twice before as his partner opened with, "We appreciate that, Sir."

Williams glared at the source of the interruption. "But, I do *not* tolerate false accusations. Tom Wilton was a rising star in the Department. I tell you, honestly, that it would have been in all our worst interests for anything to happen to him."

"And why is that?" Donato asked the question in as mild a tone as he could summon.

Williams set his reading glasses on his desk, then crossed to stand by the window. He stared out at the rose garden that covered his back yard for a moment. "There was talk of making him our permanent department head." He glanced over his shoulder. "A decision I would have heartily endorsed, I might add." He resumed gazing out the window, where his wife, who was wearing a broad-brimmed white hat, was pruning. After a quick wave to her, he continued. "At the very least, the sponsor whom he and Sandra were so studiously ignoring wanted to endow a chair, for *both* of them, in case you were curious. With Tom's death, all those plans will need to be reexamined."

"But surely Doctor Miller..." Donato paused at the stern expression on their witness.

Williams settled across from them. "Surely Doctor Miller..." He shook his head. "She is a truth-seeker, par excellence, Gentlemen. It makes her an outstanding researcher, and a miserable politician. She's tremendously loyal to those whom she feels she can trust and who share compatible goals to her own. The rest of us, well..." He waved dismissively. "She never fails to speak her mind, even when keeping silent would be most beneficial."

Donato could feel Gonzales' eyes on him as the Latino detective nodded. "I gathered that."

Williams resumed pacing again. "But, she is a wonderful teacher. The undergraduate classes she taught were always full, and the students come away with a uniformly good appreciation for the subject material."

Donato smiled, remembering his visit to her class.

The older man had his fingers interlinked behind his back. "Her graduate students usually go on to full-employment in academia, or to responsible positions in industry. I only hope she chooses to stay with the university once all this has blown over." He stopped in front of Donato. "Will that be all, Gentlemen?"

Gonzales glanced at the senior detective before he continued the interview. "Do you know why anyone would purposely sabotage the wind tunnel?"

Williams glared. "Why should I? It was a feather in the Department's cap to get that built. There's an existing, if older, facility at UC Irvine and a wind-wave tank at Scripps. Had it not been for the outside money Wilton and Miller provided, the State would never have given its approval for the construction of a third facility, especially one devoted to near-supersonic experimentation and flow visualization." He returned to his desk. "Now, I'm afraid that I'm a very busy man,, then that's all the time I can spare you." He resumed scribbling on a pad of paper.

Donato shook his head. He recognized when a question was being dodged. He glanced unconsciously through the picture window. "Were you attracted to Doctor Miller, sexually, I mean?"

Beet-faced, Williams stalked over to him. "What? Detective Donato, I've been happily married for thirty-seven years to my lovely wife. Of course not. Sandra Miller is a beautiful woman, if untidily thin, but, certainly not." He looked out the window. "You see, you've upset my wife. I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to leave, immediately."

After unlocking the glass door from the garden, the tiny woman rushed into the study. "John, dear, are you all right?"

Williams nodded. "Yes, my Sweet. These detectives were just leaving."

She took him firmly by the arm. "Now, John, remember your blood pressure. Have a seat by the window."

Gonzales and Donato exchanged a glance. It seemed they were being double-teamed.

The white-haired woman continued, forcing a cheerful tone. "Look, here's Mister Tuggles to keep you company." She disappeared down the hall, returning with a bundle that set both men gasping with surprise.

Donato watched as she deposited an oyster-colored feline with a tail like an ostrich feather in her husband's lap. "Ma'am, how long have you had that cat?"

She blinked. "Why, just years. We got Tuggies when we were in Turkey on your last sabbatical, oh, in 1987, was it, John?"

He was dutifully stroking the long arched back, smiling at the mis-matched green and blue eyes. "Ah yes, I think so."

Gonzales cleared his throat. "Doctor Williams, have you ever visited the Wilton residence, especially in the past two weeks?"

The cat tucked under his arm, the white-haired man climbed to his feet. "Now, see here. I've answered quite enough questions for one evening."

Donato nodded to his partner. "Well, I don't know about you, but I think we can go back to the station and get a warrant. Don't you?"

The little woman retrieved the cat. "Oh, dear, this is very serious. I'll contact the firm immediately, John." She ran to the phone as Donato and Gonzales made their way toward the front door.

-o-0-o-

Nea Kamini  
Santorini, Greece  
Thursday, May 21, 1998  
12:32 pm

Mulder stared out at the steaming rubble field. "Jeez, do we really need to do this?"

Scully cocked an eyebrow at her partner, but said nothing, as the tirade was continuing unabated.

"We know he disembarked at Thirasia. There's only one hotel he could have stayed at." He waved his arms at the black blocks. "This, I don't know, Scully."

She stepped out carefully. "If you'd brought your good hiking boots today, instead of those running shoes, this wouldn't be a problem." Her green-blue eyes sparkled as she turned around to throw out a tease. "Really, Mulder, and here I thought you wanted us to look for the way to subterranean Atlantis and all." She hurried forward as steam vented suddenly.

Finding himself bested, Mulder opened, then closed his mouth. "Sculleee-" He hopped after her. "-I was thinking, sun, salt air, waves, beach."

She passed him a glass tube topped by a valve. "Instead, you have lava, methane, rocks, volcano." Using a pair of surgical forceps, she dropped a black shard in an evidence bag, then tucked it in her pack. "We have to do this again, over on Palea Kamini, so, buck up, there, Chief."

He waved the device around. "How do I use this thing again?"

She pointed to one steaming pile. "Just hold it over the vent and press the button. The seal will turn red when the chamber is full." She moved in ever-widening circles over the fractured boulders. "Given the number of tourists who walk here every day, I don't expect to find any physical evidence of his presence."

Mulder nodded. "But, with the Bureau office in Athens, we won't have to ship the samples back to the States for testing."

Scully dropped more black flakes into a plexiglass tube. "And, I can stop off at the Hospital to meet with Askoras."

He held the vial directly over the flume. "Ow!"

"Mulder!" She shaded her eyes to peer intently at his waving hand. "I said over, not in. We only want to compare the trace elements from the gases with those in the deceased's lung tissues."

He feigned a pout, then moved on to take a sample successfully. "But your autopsy revealed asphyxiation, not blunt-force trauma, as you initially thought, as the cause of death. The stiff would have to have been unconscious, and he would have had to have been held over one of these vents for a length of time, if these gases were to have killed him." Straightening, he turned to her. "See? I can handle this science stuff of yours."

"I know, but what other explanation is there?" She tossed her head at the gleam in his eyes. "That was *rhetorical*, Mulder." She pushed her hair off her face. "I'm done. We just have time to return to the boat. Should we plan on staying on Thirasia for the night?"

He waited for her to step in front of him. "Yeah. Since I didn't pack my suit, we'll need to check out the beaches, too." He swung his hips twice for emphasis.

She sent him a playful glare. "Hotel, yes. *Those* beaches, no. I wouldn't be able to carry my weapon to defend your honor."

"Scully!" He feigned offense as they walked. "Are you implying I couldn't handle a horde of naked women on my own?"

She tucked her chin. "It wasn't the women I was thinking of." At his theatrically prolonged gasp, she tossed her head. "But you still owe me a massage?"

Since the other passengers were gathering, he waggled his eyebrows, but kept silent.

-o-0-o-

Cave Mare Hotel  
Manolas, Thirasia  
Santorini, Greece  
Thursday, May 21, 1998  
3:54 pm

Scully glanced around the lobby as she and Mulder entered. The tour books she had read on and off since finding out there was a possibility of visiting the island referred to this establishment as 'custom designed.' It certainly looked it. Once they reached the front desk, Mulder touched her spine to bring her attention back to the case at hand. She lifted the print from one pocket of her backpack in preparation, even though the registration counter was unmanned.

Or, more properly, unwomanned. A tiny matron, beginning to go grey, entered from the back area a few moments later. "We don't have the rooms ready yet, but I'll take your names if you like."

After flashing her badge, then introducing herself and her partner, Scully smiled gently. "That's not necessary, Ma'am." She pushed the Polaroid across the counter. "We're investigating the death of this man, but we need to establish his identity first. We believe he may have stayed at your hotel sometime in the past couple of weeks. Do you remember him? Or are there other hotel employees to whom we could show this photograph?"

The proprietress slid on her reading glasses, taking a few moments to study the face. "Why, yes, I do recognize him. He left without settling his bill, or taking his belongings with him. He stayed two nights, then didn't return on the third."

The partners exchanged a glance before Mulder took up the questioning. "Could we take a look at his effects, Ma'am?"

She cocked her head, taking in the appearance of the agents. "Well, there's this matter of his bill, you see..."

The tall man dug in his pocket for his wallet. "Okay, you said two nights? And how much for storing his possessions?"

After a suitable number of bills were placed on the woman's supine palm, she disappeared into the back again, returning with a lumpy duffel bag. "These were his." She shoved the luggage under the counter, then into the lobby, with her foot. "Since he's dead, we won't be hanging onto them."

Mulder favored her with his broadest grin. "Thanks for your cooperation, Ma'am."

She watched them unzip the bag. "So, will you be requiring a room yourselves?"

Mulder eyed Scully, then lifted out his credit card. "Yes. Two, please." He looked down when his partner grasped his wrist.

"I'll pay for this." She took his American Express card to tuck it in her jeans pocket, then placed her MasterCard on the counter.

He touched her shoulder. "Scully, you don't have to."

She tossed her hair. "Just returning the favor. You paid for my very expensive accommodations in Athens."

The woman behind the counter eyed them both before reaching for her imprint reader. "I have 104 and 105 free. They're right across the hall from each other. 104 looks out over the Caldera."

Scully nodded. "Is there somewhere we can work while we wait?"

"Breakfast room." The woman waved vaguely at the other end of the lobby.

Mulder had hoisted the closed duffel over his shoulder by the time Scully returned. "Through there?" He pointed to a set of knobless double doors. At the woman's nod, the partners stepped away.

-o-0-o-

Witness Interrogation Room  
Northern Division  
San Diego Police Department  
Monday, May 4, 1998  
10:14 pm

Jerry Donato sighed. "Look, Doctor Williams, we know you were holding out funds on the deceased. You and he had had your share of disagreements in the past. There were white cat hairs found at the scene of the crime. You alone, among all the likely suspects, have a white Turkish Van."

"You're accusing me because I have a cat?" Williams was roaring, whether in genuine rage, or in masculine posturing, time would soon tell.

"John..." His lawyer rested a restraining hand on his client's arm, then glared across the battered metal table. "If you have no more material evidence than that, I'll have very little trouble seeing that this case is thrown out of court, Detective."

Donato narrowed his dark eyes at the older man. After having worked this side of the fence for this long, he was immensely relieved he failed to put together the funds to get through law school. He hated lawyers. He hated their two thousand dollar suits and their Gucchi shoes and their perfect haircuts. Most of all, he hated the way they always assumed the police were a bunch of bumbling fools. "Now that we have hair and skin samples from Doctor Williams, we can compare them against those found at the scene, and I'm certain we'll find a match." He glanced down as a note was slipped under his hand. After reading it, he tapped his partner on the shoulder, then the two stepped outside.

"What?" Gonzales watched the pair conversing through the one-way glass.

"Sandra's awake."

"Okay, old man," the Latino detective agreed to the unspoken request as he clapped Donato on the shoulder. "I'll keep grilling the suit while you see if she remembers who attacked her?"

Donato smiled. "Thanks." He knew he and Richard Gonzales had the makings of an exceptionally perceptive partnership.

-o-0-o-

Breakfast Room  
Cave Mare Hotel  
Manolas, Thirasia  
Santorini, Greece  
Thursday, May 21, 1998  
4:44 pm

"I wonder how many more of these we'll find?" Mulder asked as he placed yet another driver's license on the pile in the center of the table.

Scully sighed. "So, who is this guy? We have yet to find anything that will explain all this. He doesn't have anything here that would tell us he was a government agent, or even a PI. So, we're talking petty con artist, hit man, what?"

"Jim Rockford?" Smirking, Mulder pushed his hair off his forehead. "Not hit man. No boxes of ammunition, or even gun oil or rags for cleaning his weapon."

She rubbed her forehead. "No extra cash, or even traveler's checks."

The dark-haired agent pointed to a separate pile of plastic. "He gives new meaning to the phrase, 'Don't leave home without it.'"

She frowned. "But all those bills come due eventually. Who would be willing to bankroll that level of debt for so removed an operative?"

Mulder snorted. "Scully, not everyone pays off his cards every month like a certain FBI agent I know."

She shook her head. "But, he's obviously more than just a spendthrift bachelor on holiday."

Mulder arched an eyebrow. "I know. At least we have more data to give the guys. Let's see what any of this means." He reached across the table for his cell.

Scully rose to stretch. "I'll go check on our rooms."

-o-0-o-

Cave Mare Hotel  
Manolas, Thirasia  
Santorini, Greece  
Friday, May 22, 1998  
1:42 am

The rust-colored stones pulling the warmth from his bare soles, Mulder padded across the hall to his partner's room. Once he had turned to the rough door, he paused. The space within was suspiciously quiet. "Scully?" Given the hour, the query was whispered, rather than voiced.

Silence.

He tested the handle, surprised to find the door unlocked. He waited for a protest from the darkness.

More silence.

"Scully?" His whisper was backed with more force. Blinking, he waited for his eyes to adjust. The covers were turned back, the sheets in a tangle, but the bed was empty. The faint illumination from a shell-shaped night light in the bathroom filtered through the open door to show him she was not up to her neck in soapsuds, soaking out the kinks in her shoulders.

"Sir?"

The agent spun to face the younger of the two daughters of the woman who had checked them in the day before. "Yes?"

A black-haired girl, barely into her teens, slender as a reed, pointed toward the courtyard they had passed on the way to their rooms. "Your friend is out there. She's been staring at the bay for an hour or so now." She held out a black wool blanket, then bit her lower lip. "The breeze picked up overnight, so I was giving extra blankets to the guests staying in the rooms on the Caldera side of the hotel. You might want to take it to her."

As he took the thick coverlet, Mulder nodded. "Thanks." He started down the hall, then, when he reached the glass exit door, turned to ask the girl a further question, but she was already knocking timidly at the next room. As he stepped outside, he took a deep breath. The tang of salt set him coughing.

The auburn head, just visible over the high back of the granite bench, turned at the sound. "Hey, Mulder."

He stepped up behind her, resting both hands on the rounded rim. "Hey."

Scully pushed her hair off her face. "You didn't have to get up. Everything looks different from this little island. Wilder, somehow." She clucked with surprise as the black cloth descended over her bare legs and arms.

Mulder smirked. "Special delivery, Doctor. Don't argue with the owners, or we'll be sleeping out on all that lava." One hand still hooked over the top, he stepped around the bench to settle into the corner behind his partner, who was turned sideways, clutching her knees to her chest.

Once the dark-haired man was seated, she adjusted the blanket over herself, sliding backwards until she was tucked against his side. "Won't be the first time. But, thanks." She tugged on the coverlet until she could throw half of it over his own bare legs.

Surprised at the physical contact, he glanced at the back of her neck, finding his gaze falling where it usually landed, on the small scar between her shoulder blades. "No problem." His breath hitched, then he frowned. His partner was carefully tucking her back and shoulders in the curve of his body. Were it any other woman, he would read this as a subtle advance, but with her, he knew it was the last thing he should consider.

Back in Athens, she had put her head down, almost like a bull, marching straight up to him, to push him away. But, it wasn't like her to strike out when hurting, or, he reminded himself, it hadn't been like her for quite some time. Instead, like a wounded little wild thing, she had taken to settling close to a source of warmth and nurture until she was well. He was heartened at the thought that he provided her that comfort and security. Perhaps that would make him just as vitally important. Shifting slightly, he curled his shoulders around hers, then waited. He left one arm lying along the granite edge, the other limp across his legs, since, like any untamed creature, she would struggle if trapped.

His chin close to her cheek, he stared up at black velvet. The stars were scattered across the dark dome as if the sea had splashed a mighty wave against it, leaving the water to evaporate, the grains of salt remaining, stuck there. They sat like that, listening to the waves, watching the sky change to a deep midnight blue, the crystals falling slowly into the ocean from which they had come.

When the glaze on the bowl had turned jade-like, green and luminous, she began without turning. "I dreamed I killed my father, Mulder."

He cocked his head, staring at the bumps where her knees were, waiting.

Her forehead dropped until it nearly rested on those twin knobs. "You had said your psychologist's skills were at my disposal. So, what would Herr Doktor Sigmund say about that?"

He shrugged, taking the excuse to bring more of his torso in contact with her back. "That wasn't one of the secrets he whispered to me. What do *you* think it means?" He felt, rather than heard, her snort.

She raised her head, the curls brushing against the shoulder behind her. "Ah, you're for real, then. I don't know. The setting was strange. Ahab was all swathed in furs, paddling a kayak, of all things, and I was hanging onto the back, calling him. He never responded to me, but, instead, kept trying to shove me away with the oar. It was white, like it was a carved whale-bone. Eventually, I let go of the kayak to grab the handle." Both her arms shifted free of the wool, her gestures copying and amplifying her words. "I *pulled* the paddle free, but in so doing, I capsized the kayak. When it righted, he was gone, and I was alone in a sea of ice." She shifted around to look up at him, her shoulder pressing into his side, her green-blue eyes inches from his own. "I think I put together my grief over losing him with that myth of Sedna, but I don't understand it. I don't understand *any* of it, Mulder. I've grieved for my Father. I love him and miss him, but he's gone, after a full and happy life."

He nodded. "One that would make any daughter proud." He gently guided one arm back under the blanket. "Let me suggest something to you, Scully."

Her eyes narrowed. "This is where you bring up Karl Jung and archetypal images, don't you?"

He threw her a lopsided-grin. "The Fox Mulder variation." He waited for a snort or a return jibe, but she was silent, so he continued. "Jung worked from the myths of our earlier days."

She blinked.

He bit his lower lip momentarily. "But the roles for women in the past were limited, restricted to mothers, daughters, or whores." He shrugged. "Sorry."

Lifting one corner of her mouth, she swiveled around, sitting cross-legged on the bench. "I know. None of those fit me, really." She adjusted the blanket, making certain his long legs, which were bare under the knit shorts, were still covered against the chill. "If it were the Middle Ages, I could always retire to a nunnery, I suppose."

Mulder blinked, remembering Margaret Scully's words, which were spoken while sitting beside a completely different ocean.

Scully rested her shoulder lightly against his side. "But that was then. Nuns don't run double convents and control vast tracts of land, or settle disputes between cardinals. So what does that make me?"

Somber, he bent over her. "Someone who doesn't fit into a neat little box, and shouldn't try."

She tossed her head. "Spoken with the voice of experience."

He nodded. "That theory of mine?"

She arched one brow. "I knew we'd get back to it sometime."

"These dreams? You've been searching for who you are, running through every archetype held up for women, trying each out and tossing them aside." He shifted closer. "Don't be afraid to make your own rules, Scully. The old ones don't work. Give you any physical adversity, any intellectual challenge, and you won't shrink away from it. You'll stride out and beat it back, with your bare hands if that's all you have. Don't shy away now, from claiming yourself for *you*, not for who your parents or your family wants you to be."

Staring out at the sea, she inhaled deeply. "Brave New World again?"

He set her a lopsided grin. "Like everything else we do." He reached around her, making certain she was still covered. "And, Scully?"

She pulled the wool more tightly around her shoulders. "Hum?"

His eyes were black in the growing light. "Never forget, you're worth it."

She shook her head. "Mulder."

He grasped her shoulder. "I mean it. We've worked together too long. I know you. You think you're damaged goods, don't you?"

The sharp hiss of her breath and the slight narrowing of her eyes told him he had struck home.

Heedless of her slight shift away from him, he plunged on ahead. "You think that because of the uncertainty about your abduction, because of Mel, because of the hysterectomy, that no one would want you. You told me that, back after Fordyce." As she slid further away along the stone, he grasped her shoulder to keep her still. "And you've internalized that to the point where you don't trust yourself."

She turned to stare back at him. "How can I? All those clues I missed. Jarred was very nearly killed because of me, Mulder. I'm a trained law enforcement agent. I should have known. I might not be able to prevent the same thing from happening to you one day."

"Jarred *lived* because of you. Saunders *lived* because of you." He slid over beside her. "I'm alive because of you. All because you try as hard as you can, all the time, to do the right thing, to serve justice. Back at the rest retreat, you told me not to worry, because we'd done all that humanly could be done." He stood in front of her. "Now, I'm telling you the same thing. You did all you could. Of that, I have no doubt."

Hugging the blanket around her, she curled into as small a space as she could manage. "But if I fail in this quest for the truth, because of what I am, because of my weaknesses..." She fell silent as she blinked back tears. "I couldn't live with that."

He raised her chin with the tip of his finger. "So that makes you hate yourself? That you *could* fail?" He knelt before her. "You're worse than I am, you know?"

Still wrapped in the blanket, she slid past him to walk to the far edge of the yard. "Is this when I get to hear how you're a failure because you lost your sister, Mulder?" Staring out at the sea birds whirling and diving, she tugged the wool more tightly around her. "You aren't a failure, you never have been. You had some unspeakably terrible things happen to you as a child, but you managed to grow into one of the most moral, centered men I know." She waited, but heard nothing, so she turned.

He had been standing behind her. "I know I'm not a failure. I haven't felt that way for quite some time. Thanks to you." He grasped her wool-covered shoulder. "I've found her. Because I worked with you, trusted you, let you in, I've found my mother, found a friend, found her. I couldn't do it alone. Once I realized that, everything fell into place."

She stalked angrily to the stone bench. "So, you're telling me that if I find someone to let into my life, I'll find myself?" She plopped down with a grunt. "Thanks. I thought you didn't want me to be a damsel in distress, looking for a man to make her whole."

He had remained the edge of the yard. "I don't." He walked back to stand in front of her. "And anyone who is happy you feel broken isn't worthy to have you, Scully. You need to love yourself, to accept yourself as worthwhile, in spite of those minuscule flaws you keep training a microscope on." He grasped both shoulders. "For you. Not for or because of anyone or anything else. For you." He sat back on his heels, wondering whether anyone, her deeply beloved father, or her ever-devoted mother, had said that to her before.

As he watched, her eyes filled with tears. He realized, with endless regret, that they had not. He might have been ignored and excoriated in his childhood, but hers had been no less easy. She had been pushed, both by her own desires and by her parents, to make herself better, to always seek to improve. But, he realized now, that for her, it was as much a running from as a journeying to.

She scrubbed angrily at her face. "I'm sorry, Mulder."

As she settled back on the bench, he shook his head. "Why? You hurt because you're human." If she could come to realize that to rest was not failure, to appreciate where she stood was not defeat, then their time together would not have been wasted for her.

She twisted until she was against the stone slab of the side. "I'll be okay, Mulder, I just need to think for a while."

With a sigh, he rose. "If you want to talk, Scully, I'll be waiting." Stretching both arms over his head, he twisted his shoulders as he walked away. "Don't stay out here on this thing too long, or it'll take more exercise than a massage to get your muscles working again." His face twisted into a grin at the soft snort of agreement he heard from the other side of the stone bench.

-o-0-o-

outside Room 304  
Scripps Memorial Hospital  
La Jolla, California  
Monday, May 4, 1998  
10:46 pm

Jerry Donato had barely slowed down as he waved his badge at the nurse behind the desk. "Police business!" He had shouted to deflect the orderly who attempted to block his way. He began to spin into the same room he remembered from earlier, then stopped. This time, instead of quiet sobbing, he heard two alto voices, both apologizing as they talked.

"Sandra, I can't tell you how terrible I feel. I've been so awful to everyone who cares about me, especially you." Jerry heard cloth rustling.

"It's okay, Judy, really. Tom's gone. We'll never meet anybody else like him as long as we live, and it hurts."

"But, I didn't need to hurt you! That's not fair." With a sigh, Donato shuffled into the room.

"Judy, I'm sorry I didn't - Detective!" Sandra was beaming broadly at him as she released the blonde. "Good to see you here so soon! Judy tells me you have him in custody."

He stepped up next to the pillows. "Yes, we do, and you were right, the cat was everything."

If anything, the smile stretched her slightly-full lips even further. "I told you it would."

"Did you see him?"

Now the expression faltered. "See him? What?"

"In your office, did you see who attacked you? Is that how you know?"

She shook her head. "No, my memory's kind of fuzzy. I remember I was searching in the back of my cabinet for some funding notes when he showed up. I needed it to compare them with Tom's records." She stuck out her chin. "I worked it out through a process of elimination. I just can't figure out why?"

He brushed the back of her hand lightly with his fingertips. "It was the money, Sandra, it had to be."

She frowned. "Money? What do you mean? What would he do with money? The University took care of all his needs."

Thinking of the spacious house and the rose garden, Donato nodded. "It certainly did. Could it have been some mis-guided attempt to keep power? He talked about Wilton taking over as Department Head."

"He?" Sandra shook her head. "How would Andy be aware of something like that?"

Donato stared down at her. "Andy? Don't you mean Professor Williams?"

She blinked up at him. "Williams? John Williams? You're kidding me. We didn't always agree on everything, but to sabotage the tunnel and kill Tom? "

"No, I'm not. He has a Turkish Angora cat, you know."

Sandra slid out from under the sheets. "No, you have the wrong man." She turned to Judy, who was agape at the exchange. "Judy, where are my clothes?"

The blonde rose lithely. "Sandra, you can't! You just woke up. The doctor still needs to check you over."

Sandra half-staggered for the small chest of drawers set in the wall. "Never mind. Detective?"

"Yes?" Jerry hurried to her side. "Sandra, you should - "

She cut him off with a wave. "We have to get to Andy before he realizes we're onto him." She bent over, totally unconcerned with the gap in her gown. "I know this all sounds like a cliche, but I'm concerned that he might do an injury to himself once he hears the police are coming for him. He's borderline, you see, and he's already said he'd rather die than return to an institution."

Jerry took a deep breath. "But, the cat hairs, how - "

"He worked in the evenings at an animal shelter. He was one of the few people who would have been in the building last night, and who could have approached Tom at home without Tom being concerned about it."

Judy nodded. "We tried to look out for Andy, took him places, had him in our home for Christmas and Thanksgiving, that sort of thing."

"Then why?" Jerry frowned. "Why kill him?"

Sandra, with jeans, shirt, and shoes in hand, stepped toward the small bathroom. "We'll let you ask him that, all right?"

-o-0-o-

Beach, Korfos Port  
Thirasia, Santorini, Greece  
Friday, May 22, 1998  
11:42 am

After sliding on his Ray-Bans, Mulder settled back in the canvas lounge. "Feel better?"

"Hum. Much." Scully, who had donned her usual sensible black one-piece, was prone on a beach towel at his side. She shifted on the gravel, then rested her cheek on her crossed arms to smile over at him. "Magic fingers, as always."

He stretched up to adjust the over-sized umbrella, setting it fully upright to shade more of his partner. "All part of the service, Ma'am." He smirked, enjoying their running joke.

A single word floated up to him. "Thanks."

Startled, he leaned over her. "For what?"

She twisted onto her side, then sat up to cross her legs. "For making me take a break. For this." She waved at the water. "For this time away from the States. I think we both needed it. I certainly did."

He lifted off his sunglasses to chew one ear-piece idly. "No problem, Scully." He held her gaze for a long moment.

Finally, she broke contact to twist back onto her stomach. "So, what will you do?"

"Hum?" Settling back in the chair, he donned the Ray-Bans for a modicum of privacy with his thoughts.

"After you and Samantha get back together. You could move out to San Diego if you want to."

From behind the darkened lenses, he studied her body language carefully. She was at ease, he could tell, or as relaxed as someone lying on rocks could be. She had twined her legs at the ankles and was letting her curls float gently about her shoulders. After considering how to answer all the different questions implied in her query, he settled on the direct approach. "That depends on you, Scully."

She rolled onto her back, lifting her hips slightly to pull down the bathing suit. "On me?" She crossed her arms as she looked up at him. "Why?"

He shrugged. "If you stay in the Bureau, we can move forward on expanding the Section. I'd want to spend some time with Sam, but, we're strangers now." He dropped his fingers to her shoulder. "I wouldn't want to smother her, at least not right away."

One corner of her lips twitched at the self-deprecating joke. "And if I leave?" She crossed her legs again. "What will you do then?"

He shook his head, then pushed the dark hair out of his eyes. "I don't know. I wish I did. I only see a void." He slid off the glasses to pinch at his eyes. "Sorry. I know why you think you should leave, Scully, and I'll respect your judgment, whatever it is. You know why I think you should stay." He leaned into her face. "But, I find it hard to be as dispassionate about this as you are." He gasped softly when her fingers curled over his wrist.

"Then put it out of your mind, Mulder. I'm enjoying working, and playing with you." Her alto was low and gentle. "I'm beginning to feel like myself again, not some staggering wounded thing. When I arrived at Athens Airport, I felt like I was still trapped under the weight of the world." She offered a tiny smile. "Now, I'm just relishing the challenge of this case."

His eyebrows settled into jagged steps as he placed his hand on hers. "So am I. I've always enjoyed the challenge of working with you, you know." He was surprised and saddened at the darkening of her expression.

She sat up to wrap her arms around her knees. "I never meant to be difficult. I just wanted - What?"

He had grasped her shoulder to silence her. "You aren't, Scully. Not all that is difficult is bad. Jerry just wanted to use our cases to push himself up the ladder of advancement at the Bureau. You just want to solve our cases, as rigorously as they can be. That's not a bad thing *at* *all*."

She shook her head. "No, Mulder, I didn't mean on the Files. We need that rigor so we don't look like bumbling idiots. I meant on the personal level."

He blinked at her.

She stared out at the water. "These past few weeks I've been a terrible burden to you and your family."

"Oh, yes, just horrible."

Now it was her turn to look up at him in surprise.

He was grinning down at her.

She shook her head. "Mulder, you need to expend your energy on Sam, not on me."

Wondering how many times they would have to have this conversation, he rubbed her shoulder. "Let me decide what I want to expend my energy on, all right?"

Exasperated, she rose. "Okay. These rocks are impossible. I'm renting one of those chairs like yours."

Standing, he pointed at his. "Here, I'll be right back."

She crossed her arms. "No."

He grasped both shoulders. "Let me."

They locked eyes. Finally, a long-forgotten resolution rose in Scully's mind, so she settled down. "Just this once."

"Of course." The dark-haired agent began trotting up toward the gaudily decorated rental stand.

-o-0-o-

Room 105  
Cave Mare Hotel  
Manolas, Thirasia  
Santorini, Greece  
Saturday, May 23, 1998  
2:51 am

Mulder grunted at the buzz of his cell phone. After a bleary attempt to check his watch, he rested the black plastic on his cheek. "Mulder."

"You alone?"

He frowned at Frohike's question. "Yeah, sure. Why?"

"Nothing. This guy of yours, the one who attacked Dana?"

Mulder sat up. "Yes?"

"None of his credit cards or driver's licenses match with anything in the data banks we hacked into, but one."

The dark-haired agent was on his feet, headed for the door. "Oh?" He wondered why the Gunman was drawing this out.

"And that's a no-go. The name doesn't fit, either. We traced it back to a detective in the San Diego PD. Further, it was used once, only to reserve that room in Santorini where they found his belongings."

Mulder tapped once, just beneath the ivory 4 on the door across the hall from his. "Any matches on the face itself?"

"Not yet. We're still working on the prints, too. Oh, and Mulder, thanks."

"For what?" He waggled his fingers at the sleepy face of his partner leaning against the door frame.

"Coming to us with this."

The tall agent frowned down at the flagstones. "No problem. What makes you think we wouldn't?"

"Dana, as much as I worship every flame-colored hair on her head, relies entirely too much on the Bureau at times like this." He paused. "Do you think she would stay if I asked her to - "

Mulder groaned.

Frohike's voice was strained in a failed attempt conceal his exasperation. "Well, what about *you*, G-man? From what you told us, she's considering taking up permanent residence on the other side of the wardrobe."

The tall agent wondered briefly if his friend's desperation had anything to do with a certain other red-haired agent as he frowned down at the slate. "That plan won't fly either, Fro. My legs aren't *that* hairy, are they?"

A snort. "Mulder, trust me, when you two drop by, *yours* aren't the gams I'm ogling. You *can* keep straight who's who around here, can't you?"

But, rather than throw out a jibe that might upset his present equilibrium with his now semi-alert partner, he simply sighed. "Just get back to us as soon as you know anything, okay?"

"Sure," Frohike agreed before he offered his farewells.

Once the cell was closed, Scully stepped back to yield Mulder entrance to her room. "So, what did the guys have?"

Mulder settled into the sole chair in the space. "Not much. All those cards, but one, were meaningless. And the one was used only to reserve the room here."

Scully climbed back under the covers. "So, where does that leave us? Could he be part of the Consortium?"

He shrugged. "But he wasn't after us, just that woman and child. They would have had to have been as well. Whoever they are." He rubbed his eyes. "I should have let you sleep. I just thought - "

She was patting the mattress. "No, I'm awake. So, we've shown the photo around here on Thirasia and come up empty. Back to the main island?"

After he slid onto the bed, he stretched his legs out over the covers. "Yeah. We'll check in with Patikopolis, then head back to Mom's."

"Hum. Sounds good." Scully's voice was soft and distant.

Mulder smiled as her forehead dropped gently against his arm. He took a moment to check her appearance, noting that her cheeks had some color and a few freckles from their days in the sun. He remembered that she had raced him up not a few of the endless flights of stairs they had encountered. He crossed his legs at the ankles to settle in. Like this, he could relax and turn over possibilities to run past his partner after she awoke. Even if this investigation went nowhere, it seemed to be exactly what she, and if he were to be honest, he, had needed.

-o-0-o-

Darkened Road  
San Diego, California  
Tuesday, May 5, 1998  
1:14 am

"There's a light still on." Jerry had just finished explaining procedures to the chestnut-haired woman in the passenger seat. "Rich and the others are waiting just up the street."

"Sandra, I really think you should let the professionals handle this." Judy Wilton was rigid in the back seat.

"No." The hazel was hard as flint. "He killed Tom, and I have to know why."

The car rolled to a stop at the curb, then the three proceeded cautiously up the lawn toward the front door. When they reached it, they were surprised to see that it was standing ajar.

"Hello, Doctor Miller."

At her name, she glanced around the room, her eyes settling on the darkest corner. "Andy, it's okay, we're here to help."

Donato stiffened at the revolver in the man's hand.

Judy covered her mouth, but said nothing.

"No, it isn't okay. I did two terrible things, and now I have to be punished."

Sandra, one long, graceful arm extended, stepped toward the seated man. "No, Andy, you don't have to be punished like this. Tell us what you did. You'll feel better if you tell us what you did."

"Don't you know?" He was on his feet, brandishing the gun. "I let them in, not thinking that they really wanted to hurt anybody, then Doctor Wilton got trapped in the tunnel, and there was nowhere to go, and he was hurt, and he wouldn't get better. I didn't want him to end up just like me. I'll never get better." He lifted the revolver to his temple.

"No!" Judy gasped as she understood his intent. "You can get better, Andy, you can!"

He slumped to the floor, the weapon dangling loosely between his ankles. "No, I'll never get better. Just like Doctor Wilton. He was bleeding and bleeding, and there was so much blood, and he was so pale, I knew he couldn't live. It's like, like the animals we get in the shelter, the ones that are hurt or sick and we can't help. It's better that way. That's what they tell me. It was better for Doctor Wilton. It was, wasn't it?" He looked up to Sandra for the first time.

She knelt to touch his knee momentarily. "Andy, it's very important. Tell us what you saw in Doctor Wilton's study that night. You didn't shoot him?"

"No!" Andy dropped the gun, but pulled his knees together protectively. "He was slumped over his computer desk, moaning. Low and soft. There was so much blood. I knew he wasn't - "

Sandra Shifted closer. "Andy, tell us, why you were going to Doctor Wilton's that night. It wasn't time for a visit, was it?"

Fresh tears rolled down his face. "I, I wanted to apologize for my friends. They were the ones who broke into your tunnel, Doctor Miller. They said something about a drug company who was funding you, that it tested on animals, that you shouldn't benefit from the animals' suffering. They wanted to shut you down. But, when I got there, he was already, already... So, I, I hit him." He grabbed the gun, then tapped the back of his neck. "Right there, I hit him twice."

Judy stared at the revolver. "Andy, where did you get that gun?"

He blinked up at her. "It was my grandpa's. He had it on his farm. When he died, he left it to me. We had the same name. Mom would never let me have it, but, when she died, it was mine." He smiled shyly. "Thanks for the card. You three were the only ones who said anything about it."

"Why do you have the gun here, Andy?" Sandra eased slightly closer to him.

He sighed. "For protection, Doctor Miller. This isn't the best neighborhood, you know." He lifted the weapon off the floorboards. "But, now, I've been very bad, Doctor Miller. I have to be punished." He put the gun to his temple.

"Andy, no!" Both women reached for his hand.

"Don't look." The whisper was grim. "You're both such nice ladies. Please don't look."

-o-0-o-

A single gunshot rang down the street, setting the waiting squad cars in motion. In mere moments, the street was cordoned off, police vehicles pulled onto the lawn.

Gonzales and Johnson jumped from the back of an unmarked sedan, then pushed through the door together, all concern for procedure gone. They aimed at all the corners of the room, but lowered their weapons at Jerry Donato's tired comment. "It's over."

It was. Andy was slumped to the floor in one corner. Judy Wilton was weeping in Sandra Miller's arms. Jerry Donato was rubbing his face while crouching by them both.

Johnson stepped over beside his detective. "What happened here?"

Donato closed his eyes momentarily before he replied. "What it looks like. The resident of this domicile, Andy?" He looked to Sandra.

"Nixon." Her response was nearly inaudible.

"Andy Nixon, had just confessed to striking two blows that were fatal to a critically injured Tom Wilton." He leaned toward his sergeant. "I don't suspect he was the one who attacked Sandra Miller. In his frame of mind he would have admitted to it."

Johnson holstered his weapon. "Okay. We'll talk about this further down at the police station. For now, let's see to all this." He turned to call the other officers in.

A policewoman escorted Judy Wilton out, but when a second reached for Sandra's arm, the brunette waved her away.

Donato sighed. "Sandra, you need to be in the hospital. I should never have agreed to bring you here in the first place."

Her jaw set. "I'm fine, Detective. But this isn't the whole answer, you know."

Gonzales had just stepped up to join them. "What?"

Sandra nodded. "If Andy is telling the truth, and I have no reason to discount what he said, then we have to ask who shot Tom in the first place. That's who's really responsible for his death, not Andy." She regarded Donato levelly. "I owe you an apology, Detective. I think you were right about Doctor Williams."

The three men just stared at her, before Johnson growled. "That's quite enough, Doctor Miller. Let us do our work."

"Sir!" It was an African-American uniformed officer. "There's trouble back at the station house! It's the other suspect in this case!"

-o-0-o-

Police Building  
Phira, Santorini, Greece  
Saturday, May 23, 1998  
11:16 am

As they approached the low white building, Scully remembered how much of the success of their case in Fordyce was owed to the efficient Wallace Fortner. She found herself hoping the man they were about to see was his peer.

Patikopolis beamed at the two agents as they entered. "Ah, good, I'd left a message with Max, but here!" He held a credit card slip toward Mulder.

Scully lifted it out of his hand, then, after a glance, passed it to her partner. "The woman or the man paid at the Androkiri's shop with a card?"

The officer nodded. "Now, I don't have the resources the Bureau does, but..."

Mulder lifted out his cell. "Not a problem. We should know something about those three here soon." He frowned at the static, then, with a glance at his partner, took the yellow sheet with him as he stepped outside.

Scully explained to the confused man behind the desk. "We have other avenues outside the Bureau we'd like - "

A upraised hand. "Say no more."

-o-0-o-

A click of the door latch brought both their attentions to the tall man now entering.

"Good news." Scully stepped up to her partner.

Mulder nodded. "The woman's in the State Department. Byers is talking to Vickie about her right now. And that other number we traced?"

Scully crossed her arms. "There's no record of the hotel transaction, is there?"

Mulder grinned.

"What?" Patikopolis was on his feet. "What have you found out?"

She turned to explain, "The deceased had a stack of credit cards thicker than a hand's span among his possessions. By the time we traced them, there was a record of only one purchase, that of the hotel room."

Patikopolis frowned. "Which is now gone. So, who is this guy?"

Mulder shrugged. "The question of the hour." He reached for his partner's arm. "We'll be at Max's, waiting for an update. If there's news?"

Patikopolis extended a card. "Call me. This is my home, and my family's home for generations."

Scully tucked the stiff paper in her pocket. "We will."

-o-0-o-

Northern Division  
San Diego Police Station  
San Diego, California  
Tuesday, May 5, 1998  
2:09 am

Jerry Donato slammed on the brakes just before a private ambulance raced out of the station.

"What was that?" His passenger pointed.

His eyes canted toward Sandra Miller, who was pale but still alert. "I suspect that's our other suspect. Stay here."

"But, Detective - "

"Stay. Here." His teeth were gritted as he pointed to the ambulance. "I don't want to see another one of those for quite some time." He ran into the precinct room, where he grabbed the first arm he encountered. "What's happened?"

"It's that f**king egghead suspect of yours!" Evans shouted back. "Keeled over right in his cell, in front of his perfect little wife and his s**t in a suit lawyer."

Jerry shook the thickened arm. "Will he make it?"

"What the f**k do I care? He was unconscious when he went out of here, oxygen mask and all. Ask the suit." Evans pointed.

Jerry raced toward the attorney, but was blocked by a crush of reporters and officers. He watched from the back of the room as the lawyer, with Williams's white-haired wife clutching his elbow, disappeared out the double doors. Once they were gone, he sighed, then turned to head back to the car. But his chestnut-haired passenger had been waiting just behind him. "Sandra, I thought I told you - "

She shook her head sadly. "Since when have I ever done what I was told?" She rubbed her face. "I guess tragedy just seems to follow me. Two sets of parents, Tom, Andy, now this. Maybe it's spared my real family, whoever they are."

He eyed her, then tucked his hand under her elbow. "I'm sure it has, Sandra. But, for now, I think you need to go make a deal with some doctors."

She sighed. "Yeah, I guess I should."

-o-0-o-

Atlantis, Athinios City  
Santorini, Greece  
Saturday, May 23, 1998  
12:43 pm

"Mom! We're home!" Mulder held the door for his partner.

Scully tapped on his shoulder. "You like being able to say that."

He grinned down at her, thinking that there were many things he liked being able to do in this place.

"Out here!" The reply came from the back deck.

When they entered, he saw his white-haired stepfather was setting two more places out on one of the glass tables. "Phillipa left us some of her good roasted lamb for the weekend, which I know you will like, Mulder. There's a plate of falafel Caroline's bringing from the kitchen for you, Dana." He held up a pitcher of red liquid. "Juice?"

Scully nodded. "I'll never get used to drinking watermelon. But-" She accepted the glass. "-it is good."

Caroline stepped out after him, carrying a tray of the Fava bean dumplings in one hand, a bowl of tabbouleh in the other, two loaves of seeded breads balanced on the rims of both.

Once Max had helped her with the remainder of the preparations, he pulled out his wife's chair. After most of the meal had been consumed, he looked up at his stepson. "Mulder, did you have any luck today?"

As he dropped two thick chunks of savory meat on a slice of the bread, the agent shrugged. "We have a handle on the woman and child, but none on the dead man. His identity seems to disappear right before our eyes."

Scully leaned back in her chair. "We have some samples from Nea Kamini we'll need to send back to Athens for testing tomorrow, as well as the man's clothing."

"I'll see to that." Max reached for his watermelon juice. "You and Mulder have enough on your hands as it is." He resumed working through the leaves of romaine in his salad, Caroline smiling at his efforts.

"The DNA tests should be finished by the time they arrive." Scully's lips settled into an unhappy pinch.

Mulder nodded his thanks, then eyed his partner. "What?"

She glanced over at him. "What do you mean, what?"

He spread some mustard over the lamb, then scooped up the brown grains that fell off with his finger. "It's just that you don't sound thrilled about the DNA evidence. Is there something you've been mulling over from the autopsy?"

She tucked her hair behind her ear. "No, just that the correctness of DNA testing depends, to a large extent, on the skill of the technician performing the analysis."

He smirked. "Ah. An art, not necessarily a rigorous science?" His voice dropped a half an octave on the adjective.

She stuck her tongue out slightly. "A *skill*, not an idiot-proof technique."

Caroline and Max smiled at the exchange.

Scully spooned out more of the green and brown salad onto her plate. "I look forward to having Pendrell and Phillips in the section. I've worked with them both, so I know they know what they're doing."

The thick sandwich halfway to his mouth, Mulder froze at her words. He found it hard to stop grinning, then took a huge bite to hide his glee. It was the first time his partner had given any verbal indication as to her decision about her future. He concluded silently that this investigation had definitely been good for them.

-o-0-o-

End - Anath - Mot


	4. Inanna

=====o================================================o=====

_Anath_ by Mary Ruth Keller

Part IV - _Inanna_

=====o================================================o=====

Medical Examiner's Main Office  
County Operations Center  
San Diego, California  
Saturday, May 23, 1998  
5:16 am

Rubbing his face tiredly, Jerry Donato pushed the driver's door on the police car shut. The vaguely chocolaty aroma of brewing coffee drew him toward the front entrance, where his partner was waiting with two tall paper cups. "Hey, thanks." The words came out as barely more than croaks.

"Hey, yourself, Old Man." A tweak of the Latino detective's cheek followed the gravely mutter. "And, you're welcome. Do you have any idea what this is all about?"

As he sipped eagerly, Jerry shrugged. "Something about the Medical Examiner's office, I think. Johnson wasn't too coherent when he called me down here, either."

Gonzales fell in step beside his partner as they headed back to the entrance. "He only said that 'our case' had busted wide open."

Martin Johnson was standing outside, as bleary-eyed as they.

However, the man next to him exuded the same Teutonic precision as if it were ten o'clock on a Wednesday morning. "Detectives." Hitchens held out one hand. "I must thank you for your diligence in bringing me your information. I have been working to uncover the problem in my office since your departure. This way." He began to lead them through the front hall, but turned back. "Have your weapons ready. They may be necessary."

At his words, what few police were there in this time between shifts, froze. Donato felt something akin to nausea rising inside of him. To draw weapons on a fellow officer, especially inside of an official building, was the deepest breach imaginable in their fraternity. "Shouldn't this be turned over to Internal Affairs?" The dread he felt escaped in a squeak at the end of the sentence.

The Medical Examiner offered a brusque shrug as he hurried ahead of them. "I take care of my own." Then they were walking through the hall to the back of the building and the morgue.

Jerry glanced over at Gonzales to check that he was ready, weapon out, pointed at the floor. As the towering Hitchens led the way, they burst through a set of swinging doors identical to those in the Precinct house.

A technician, whom Donato recognized as Bill Humphries, had obviously been here most of the night. Spread out on the long steel counter to his left were plastic zip-loc bags neatly enclosing evidence from several on-going cases. The lab-coated man had just opened one containing a still-frozen heart tagged 'Richardson,' to dump it in a large autopsy pan. One quick glance at the interior, where grey flecks floated in a pink liquid with a few still clinging to the sides, made him glad he had skipped everything but coffee before he came in this morning. The stench of it, the recognizable burning of alcohol combined with something he couldn't identify, further, he didn't want to, had him holding his breath. To Humphries' right were other bags, all open, with half-thawed organs, slick and pinkish-grey, hanging out of them. The surface there was covered with noisome puddles of the fluid in the pan. A quick glance at his partner told him Gonzales was just as revolted.

"Stop what you're doing!" Hitchens' accent was at its heaviest.

With a disdainful sneer, Humphries dropped the heart in the fluid; the resulting splash threw green-tinted flecks across the counter. "Oh, so you finally caught on to what I was doing. I wondered how long it would take the great Medical Examiner Hitchens to figure out why so many of his cases were going awry." He waved toward his right at a steel cart, bearing a plumb-straight line of closed bags, waiting like marines at parade rest. "Like my work? All just as nice and neat as yours. I even put it all back in the proper containers. See?" He scooped the heart out with his gloved hand, slid it back into a bag, sealed it, then dropped the whole onto the steel.

Hitchens' response was to pull the man into a hammerlock, twisting one of Humphries's arms behind his back, leaving the other free to scrabble uselessly at the fingers pressing in on his windpipe. "How could you? How could you do this to the people of San Diego? How could you violate the oath you took to uphold the law? What was it? Money? Revenge? If this is personal between us, why did you do this?"

"San Diego?" The technician choked out a snort. "What do you know? It's San Diegans who are paying me to see to it that their relatives don't land in jail. Oh, I had problems with it, but, after the first time, the money made all the pain go away. I wish you understood."

Donato stepped up to the man. "Who paid you? Who? Williams? Was he the first?"

Humphries' eyes widened. "I don't want to say anything. I want my lawyer! I know my rights!"

After slamming the technician against the wall, Hitchens stepped back so Gonzales could cuff the stunned man, then help him to his feet. The Medical Examiner looked down at Donato. "Now you can call Internal Affairs. And his lawyer. I have evil work to undo."

-o-0-o-

142 Curie Avenue, University City  
San Diego, California  
Saturday, May 23, 1998  
7:21 am

Sandra dove her composting fork into the decaying pile of leaves and grass. She loved the gently sweet aroma of the blackening twigs, the warmth on her hands. She relaxed into her work, releasing the tension from the previous few weeks to drain away.

Salazar, on the other hand, was padding repeatedly around the circular walkway, glaring occasionally at the back of the house as he patrolled.

Sandra smiled. "What's wrong, Funny Boy? You can't be hungry already."

"But, he's a cat. He's always hungry."

She checked around the bin to meet a twinkling pair of brown eyes. "Detective Donato!" She beamed at him. "Have you heard something new on the case? Has John come out of his coma?"

Having decided he would tell her later about the events of this morning, he shook his head. His involvement in the matter had ended when the detectives in Internal Affairs had taken his statement, then sent him off with the standard admonition to stay available. Now, he only wanted to clear his mind. "No. I just wanted to thank you for all your help. I wish this had never happened."

Sandra wiped her forehead, leaving a half-green leaf stuck in her hair. "Well, yes. So, do I. But, what can I do for you?"

He took his hands out of his pockets. "Give me something to do." He smiled as she handed him a shovel. "And, answer a question."

Her own trowel over her shoulder, Sandra walked to a cleared side bed to begin working the soil. "Oh? Which question would that be?" She stopped digging. "Load some of the compost into the wheelbarrow, would you?"

He grunted his affirmation. "I was wondering about your cat. Where did you come up with a moniker like that, anyway? We had names for all our four-footed tenants, but none as elaborate as Alexis Salazar."

The red tabby, with that acutely developed feline sense which told him he was the center of attention, flopped on the slate tiles, then began slinging his tail back and forth.

Sandra favored them both with a lop-sided grin. "Alonso de Salazar Frias." She crossed to the center of the garden to scratch his round head. "Salazar was a priest in the Spanish Inquisition." She smirked at the surprised snort from her guest.

Jerry propped the shovel against the cedar shed wall, then rolled the bulging wheelbarrow over, leaving black crumbs of grass in his wake. "An Inquisitor! Given the ancient feline association as witches' familiars, why on earth would you do that? As a joke?"

That lopsided grin again. "Not really. Salazar was one of the few people of his time to approach the witch craze using techniques we now associate with critical thinking." She began transferring the decayed leaves to the loosened soil.

Donato went back for his shovel. "Critical thinking?"

She wiped her forehead. "Logically examining the evidence at hand. You're an investigator. Listen to this. It was customary for the Church to sweep into an area, rounding up any and all likely witches, then lock them all up in the same common prison together." As she explained, they continued working. "After interrogating and torturing an individual witch, that hapless peasant would be returned to the common holding cell with all the other accused witches."

Donato stopped to stare at her. "You must be joking, Sandra. That's the worst way to get the truth out of any group of suspects. They can cross-feed each other stories and concoct lies to please the cops all night long." He rested both palms on the end of the ash shovel handle. "Surely they knew that."

She shook her head. "It's different when you think you're dealing with the Devil, Detective. The other Inquisitors either didn't know or didn't care that collaboration would happen in the cells. You see, the way to rise in the hierarchy of the Inquisition was - "

He grunted. "To identify and eliminate as many witches as possible."

She hacked at a tree root. "Not only that, but in many cases, the Inquisitors and the town officials split the possessions of the convicted witches."

He joined her by the root mass. "Power and wealth, the ingredients of corruption. So, why was Salazar different?"

She shrugged, then trotted over to the shed. "Who knows?" She disappeared into the darkness for a moment, reappearing with a red-headed adze in her hand. "He had a conscience?" She set to cutting through one of the thicker roots, its white fibers flying as she grunted. "But, he was brought in to check the results of the first Inquisitorial team, which had identified over one thousand witches."

Donato just stared. "Where was this again?"

She knelt to attack some of the tougher members, then looked up in surprise when he grasped the handle. "You talk, I'll whack." His grip tightened.

She tugged back. "But, I have the right callouses built up." She cocked her head. "There's only thick skin on those two index fingertips of yours."

Jerry began hacking at the roots. "No, you keep talking. This is interesting."

Settling cross-legged on the grass, she waited until the red tabby, who was immensely happy to hear his name invoked in the conversation so frequently, had nestled into the hollow of her legs. "This was in the Basque region of Spain. Anyway, Salazar read over the collected testimony, then went back to reexamine the original witnesses. He would ask questions like, 'You said you were at the witches' Sabbat on thus and such a night. Witch X has testified that he was there as well. You saw all these other people there. Why didn't you see Witch X?'"

Donato snorted. "I know some modern-day police officers who aren't bright enough to do that. So, basically, he pointed out the massive contradictions in all the conflicting witches' testimonies and threw it all out?"

Evicting a protesting feline, Sandra staggered to her feet. "Exactly. The witches were all claiming, because the original Inquisitors had been so enamored of the story, that during the witches' Sabbat on Saturday night, they would tear down the village church." She reached for her shovel. "They would hold these things in the square in front of the place, apparently." She resumed adding compost from the wheelbarrow. "The Devil would rebuild the church in time for Sunday morning Mass, of course."

"Ah." Donato looked up from his collection of the now-dismembered root system. "And Salazar was the only one to ask the eminently sensible question of why God's sworn adversary would bother to rebuild a house devoted to his enemy's worship?"

She nodded. "By the time he was finished eliminating all the inconsistent testimony, he had exonerated over 800 people, including women in their nineties and babes-in-arms."

Donato shook a few more spadefuls of compost over the bed. "Like I said at the beginning, quite an August moniker for so little a cat."

Sandra beamed at the tabby, who was now snoozing, his spotted belly exposed to the sun. "He's earned every letter of it."

The detective had rolled the wheel barrow back by the redolent heap. "Do you want some more?"

She shook her head. "This was the only bed I needed to enrich. Thanks for your help today."

He held up both of his hands. "See, no problems here."

She shrugged. "Yet. So, what was it you wanted to ask me? Outside of about Salazar, that is."

He shoved his blackened fists in his pockets. "Yeah. Right. Sorry."

She raised both thickened eyebrows at him.

He coughed once, then stepped close to her. "Since you've done all this work, I figure you probably don't feel like cooking, right?"

She patted his shoulder, then checked her watch. "No, and you probably won't either. Shall we say, seven, then?"

He grinned. "Yeah. It'll take that long to get the dirt out from under my fingernails." He shrugged. "So, what do you prefer?"

She chewed her lower lip for a moment. "Someplace vegetarian."

He touched her wrist, then left.

As she watched him go, Sandra observed to Salazar, "Well, that was interesting."

"Urr." One orange eye half-opened, then the tabby flopped onto his side to stretch.

-o-0-o-

Atlantis, Athinios City  
Santorini, Greece  
Sunday, May 24, 1998  
7:21 am

Caroline watched her son step into the hallway. "Fox?" His appearance had her calling to him cautiously. "Are you and Dana planning on scaring the locals today?"

He spun, sending arms, tie, and jacket into motion. "Hunh?" When it registered who had spoken to him, he schooled himself to stillness. "Mom? You okay?" He took a few steps into the living room.

She forced a tight-lipped smile off her face. She was rather tired of hearing those three words run together in her son's gentlest tenor. "Yes, Fox, I'm fine. I just wanted to talk to you about - "

"Samantha?" He collapsed on the couch beside her. "What is it?"

She shook her head. "Sam will be a huge adjustment for us all. But, I was more interested in Dana. Do you think she will still be leaving you when you return to the States?"

He fidgeted. "I, I don't know, Mom. I couldn't say I'd blame her if she did. Working with me hasn't been easy on her. I mean, her sister and father were still alive when she came to the X-Files, and she was a healthy, normal woman with a bright future. She should have risen to AD by now. She would have found a decent man to take care of her."

Caroline rested her hand on his knee. "Fox, I don't think you should presume to know what Dana wants for herself."

He slid out of her grasp, then crossed his arms. "She's talking about working with the new agents. Even last night she was making plans before we turned in. So, she's still considering staying, anyway. But, she hasn't said one way or the other."

"Haven't said one way or the other about what?"

The pair on the sofa looked up at the flame-haired woman in a grey wool suit standing in front of them.

Mulder flushed a deep shade of purple.

Caroline waved to the wicker chair across the room. "Dana, how are you this morning?"

She smiled. "Feeling better than new, almost." She settled on the cushions. "That scares me, to be honest. Usually that means we'll be trekking up mountains together." She cocked an eyebrow at her partner. "If you really must know, Mulder, I have decided to stay in the X-Files. Whatever happens, I think I'm physically capable of rising to the challenge."

He was off the cushions like a rocket, one long arm extended towards her. "Then we had better go change."

She frowned up at him.

He smirked. "Mom says we look too much like FBI agents to conduct a proper investigation here in this swinging vacation spot of the Mediterranean."

She placed her hand in his. "I thought we were searching for the hidden passage to Atlantis?"

Mulder bent to whisper theatrically in her ear. "After lunch, Doctor, after lunch."

Caroline smiled as they headed down the hall.

-o-0-o-

Once safely spinning down the road to the Police Station, Mulder turned to his relaxed partner. "You meant what you said back there? About staying, I mean?"

One hand holding her curls flat against her forehead, she nodded. "Of course. That wasn't just for your Mother's benefit." She glanced over at him.

He sent her a broad grin. "That's the best news I've heard in a long time, Scully." He propped an elbow on the open window. "What was it that prompted you to stay?"

She shrugged. "I love the work, Mulder, you know that. I've been torn, these past few weeks, between feeling like my duty to the X-Files was to make certain you had a fail-safe support mechanism, even if I couldn't be a part of it, and my selfish desire to see our investigations through to a, with luck, successful conclusion. We've come so far, and if we stay focused, the group we've put together can finish exposing the evils we've seen to the light of day." She brushed his extended arm with her fingertips. "I've also been worried that you need to make contact with your sister before I felt I could leave. No one else understands just how much torment this search has been for you."

His lips set in a thin line, while his thumbs beat out an uneasy rhythm on the steering wheel, but he said nothing. If they could avoid a rehash of the painful discussions of the past few weeks, it would be a great relief. He knew they needed to look to the future.

She tightened her grip. "But, if you must know, for all your supposed personality flaws, you're very easy to become attached to. I think I *have* found a decent man to look after me, one who won't let me stagnate intellectually or personally."

His green-gold eyes glinted. "I knew there was an upside to all this unused manly charm."

She turned her attention back to the road. "So, what do we have here? A victim with no name, no past, and no known connections to the people he attacked before he died, no way to tell when he came to the island, no real understanding of *how* he died - or - " She blinked down at her partner's shirt pocket at the buzzing.

Mulder lifted the phone to his ear to listen. He canted his eyes towards Scully before he responded. "Really? The gases from the two islands don't match the chromatographic signatures taken from the deceased's tissues? I'll be certain to pass that along. Can you fax the results to the Santorini police headquarters in Phira? We'll be there in a few minutes. Okay, right." He terminated the call, then glanced over at his partner.

"I heard, Mulder." Abandoning her curls to the wind, she crossed her arms. "So, if not volcanic gases, then what? Automotive exhaust?" She shook her head.

"Would that explain the burning you found in the lungs?"

She bit her lower lip for a moment. "If he were unconscious, and the gases very, very hot, it might. Although, a more likely source would be an industrial furnace of some kind."

Mulder chuckled. "Yup. Those are just everywhere here on this manufacturing powerhouse of the Mediterranean." He cocked an eyebrow at his joke.

Frustrated, she pulled her hair back out of her eyes with both hands. "Mulll-derr. I was brainstorming. What about a kiln? That has to vent hot gases after firing, and it has to be done in a controlled manner, to keep the pots from breaking."

He waggled his fingers. "Those, at least, Santorini has."

Scully crossed her arms. "I should have been suspicious of the volcanic gases idea from the start, since there were no tell-tale marks of oxygen deprivation in the extremities or the oral cavity." She glanced at her partner, who was smirking. "You know, blue around the fingernails, or paleness in the gums. Kilns use hot, dry air to fire pots, which would sear, as I saw all the way through the respiratory tissues. Mulder, look out!"

He swerved just as a tourist bus rounded the bend, then pulled the Fiat over onto the shoulder. Once the traffic was past, they had resumed their journey. He canted his eyes toward his partner. "We'll know once we reach Police headquarters."

She tossed her head. "What, no theories?"

His reply was offered softly. "No. I'm stumped on this one, Doctor." The tall agent tossed her a shaky grin. "I'm hoping the cold light of logic will show the way for the rest of us." He gulped, then turned back to the road.

She reached over to pat his forearm, then fell silent as well.

-o-0-o-

streets of La Jolla,  
San Diego, California  
Saturday, May 23, 1998  
4:57 pm

When his cell phone buzzed, Jerry Donato grunted in surprise. He had arranged for Gonzales to cover for this evening, so he wasn't expecting any summonses. He placed the unit on his cheek. "Donato." He listened, then blurted out, "Mike? What are you talking about? Why are you saying this? Are you all right?" After a moment, he concluded the call. "Hang on, I can be there in five minutes. I'm only a couple of blocks from your home."

-o-0-o-

Jerry's eyebrow quirked at the sight. His ex-partner, clad only in his boxers and a stained undershirt, was pacing angrily in his driveway.

"Donato!" The older detective banged on the hood once when the car had rolled to a halt. "Why are you doing this?"

As he cranked down the window, Jerry frowned upward. "Doing what?"

"You f**king piece of s**t! You know what!"

The thick-chested detective felt a sudden chill run up his spine. His former partner must be ill or drugged. In either case, he didn't want to deal with him on his own. He reached over to activate his intercom, then, reassured by the hiss of the static, focused on forming a reply. "Mike, I don't know what you're talking about."

Red and purple splotches broke out on Evans' cheeks. "G** d*** you s** of a b****! You want witnesses! I'll give you witnesses!" He began waving his arms. "Hey, Jimmy! Get you're a** out here! College Boy thinks I'm gon-na mess up his pretty little face!"

A grey-haired man stuck his head past his screen door just long enough to shout back. "Evans, take a powder! I've seen enough of that gut of yours for one day!" Wood slapped against wood, then the two officers were alone.

The intercom crackled with an urgent request for Donato to identify himself, then update the situation's status.

Before he could respond, however, Evans had pulled the car door open to lunge for the unit. "If your really want to know, ask College Boy here what he's done with my retirement." Unclipping the mike, he shoved the white bob in Jerry's face. "Go ahead, ask him!"

Donato wrenched it from Evans' hand. "Uh, Dispatch, this is Detective Jerry Donato, here at the home of Detective Michael Evans. Detective Evans seems to be unwell."

"D*** right I am! He stole my retirement funds!" The older man backed away from the car to begin pacing again, still shouting curses.

Still concerned for his former partner, Jerry released his seat belt, to slide out from behind the wheel. "Mike, talk to me."

"No! You're a thief!" Evans took a swing at Donato, then barreled into him with his shoulder, throwing them both against the fender of the Ford. "Give me my money!"

The dispatcher cut in again. "We have a unit two blocks away from your position. It's on its way right now. Both of you remain where you are."

"Hurry." Jerry was gasping as he struggled to get a firm footing to resist Evans' fists. Finally balancing himself, he wrestled the older man's arms behind him. As he pressed against him in an effort to subdue his struggles, Donato caught a distinct odor on Evans' breath. "Mike, you're drunk?"

A twist to meet his eyes. "No, I'm not. But *you* smell pretty good. You got a hot date?" He leered.

Jerry sighed. "No, just an evening with a friend."

"Oh, friend?" Evans went still. "This *friend* wouldn't happen to be the lovely Doctor Miller, now would it?" A chuckle shook out of him. "I misjudged you, College Boy. You are a regular guy, after all. Gonna see a little action tonight?" He relaxed even further.

Jerry helped him to his feet, then stepped back. "Mike, it isn't what you think."

"Yeah. Don't try to kid a kidder." A playful slap to Donato's stomach. "I've seen the way you look at her." Evans leaned against him. "I know what I'd do with her. You need any pointers? You got protection?"

The siren of the black and white cut into the conversation. "Everything okay here, guys?"

Jerry nodded to the uniformed officer in the passenger seat. "Yes, yes it is." He patted Evans on the back. "Mike here just had a bit too much to drink."

The older detective rolled his eyes, but managed a smile. "I have not." He rubbed his chest. "But, I think I need to lie down."

The uniform ran his gaze from the cracked toenails, up pasty-white limbs to the reddened shoulders. "Okay." He sent them one last dubious look, then waved his partner on. "See you guys on Monday, right?"

Both detectives nodded, then, as the cruiser pulled silently away, Donato guided his former partner to his front door.

Evans pushed his few stray hairs off his crown. "Come clean with me, Jerry, you *do* have a thing for Miller, don't you?"

Just relieved the older man was calm, he nodded. "I'd like to continue seeing her, if it all works out. But, this is just dinner, nothing more."

Chuckling, Evans pulled his keys from his pocket. "Sure. You let me know if you get lucky. Or maybe the grin you'll be wearin' on Monday will be all the announcement this old beat cop will need."

"Yeah. Sure." The thick-chested detective frowned at the sudden mood swing as he followed his former partner into the house, then the door closed behind him.

-o-0-o-

Police Station  
Phira, Santorini, Greece  
Sunday, May 24, 1998  
9:18 am

Just after the agents entered the small whitewashed building, the fax was handed to Mulder by a disgruntled deputy, who was displeased with the interruption to his Sunday. The dark-haired man glanced at the contents, then passed them to Scully.

After reading the three sheets, she looked up at her partner. "No carbon monoxide or sulfur build-ups in the tissues." She turned to the second page, then pressed her thumb under one line. "See this?"

He bent over her shoulder. "PbO, 0.1 ppt." He checked her face. "If I remember what little chemistry you've driven past this thick skull, you won't have to tell me that's lead oxide." His hand dropped to her spine to guide them both towards an unoccupied desk. "Nor, Doctor, will you need to remind me that lead oxide is commonly used as a glazing compound in pottery."

She favored him with a broad smile, then a playful pat on the head. "You pass your final, Mulder. And, whether you realize it or not, the best city to begin our search is north of here. There are art shops all over Ia." She leaned against his shoulder as she whispered her response. "So, after all this, had we actually succeeded in escaping for our vampire hunt, we could have saved ourselves days in terms of pursuing our killer."

The hand at her waist curled gratefully around her ribs. "Ah, there's no splitting up this team, Scully."

"So, what have you found?"

The edge in the voice had them separating to face Officer Patikopolis before Mulder replied for them both. "According to this, our victim was killed around a kiln. Do you have any idea how many of those we could find on Thera, or whom we should speak with in terms of an artists' guild?"

He nodded. "You can start right up the island. Santorini Artists Guild." He walked out the door, then pointed up the winding road between the coast and the mountains. "Can't miss it. Just look for the amphora-shaped sign by the Maritime Museum in Ia."

-o-0-o-

Ia, Santorini, Greece  
Sunday, May 24, 1998  
10:22 am

Scully pointed up a flight of white-washed stairs. "There's the amphora. How many steps do you think there are?"

Mulder groaned. "Enough to insure we'll be in excellent aerobic condition when our idyllic vacation is over, Scully." He bent over her shoulder. "Race you."

She tossed her head, then, arms and legs pumping, the auburn-haired pathologist sprinted good-naturedly toward the bright blue dome of the sky. Mulder tried taking two steps at a time, but found himself stumbling often enough that he soon fell behind his partner.

Gasping, she rested on a bench in front of the museum until they had both regained their composure. As they walked, the partners proceeded past the sleeping cats and drying octopi into a tiny, cluttered shop.

Mulder squinted into the darkness. "No one's home."

The pathologist shook her head. "Exactly. They're all at church, then they'll come home to have lamb and rice with cherries for Sunday dinner." She browsed among the pots, astonished at the sheer quantity of copies of images she remembered from her readings on Akrotiri.

Mulder, following a stride or two behind his partner, found he was amazed, not by the merchandise on display, but by the profound sense of relief that had settled over him since Scully's declaration this morning. A gentle grip of his elbow had him stopping to smile down at the green-blue eyes studying him serenely. It seemed that she, too, was as relieved as he to have this internal struggle of hers behind her.

She left her hand on his arm. "Let's take a look out back. I've found a brochure of the artists represented by the guild."

He tucked her fingers firmly against his side before nodding his assent. Once outside, he pointed to a small white dome at the back of the tiny lot.

She nodded. "It's either a kiln or a bread oven. But, the tests didn't show any grain particulates in the lung tissues."

Mulder had moved to stand by a vent pipe. "Hey Scully, check this out." He pointed to a red streak near the top. "Rust or blood?" He feigned exposing a set of fangs.

She sent him a gentle chuckle as she dug into her pockets for a retractable exacto blade and a zip-loc bag. "Let's find out, Nosferatu. I packed one of the new portable blood testing kits the Bureau is evaluating out in my medical bag in the trunk."

-o-0-o-

142 Curie Avenue, University City  
San Diego, California  
Saturday, May 23, 1998  
6:52 pm

Jerry Donato paced anxiously outside the oak and glass door. He couldn't shrug the sense of foreboding his encounter with Evans had engendered, so, he turned to check the road. That deep blue Ford, which had caught his eye earlier in the day, was still parked down the street.

Her long brown curls yet damp, Sandra smiled as she unlocked the door. "Detective!" She followed his gaze. "What the - "

He was trotting down the blacktop, so she stepped out, then closed the door after her. As she watched, he tapped on the car window, held up his badge, then nodded as he walked away.

Leaning back against the wall, she had her arms crossed by the time he returned to her.

"Sorry." He shook his head. "I know a law enforcement stakeout when I see one."

She turned toward the entrance. "Friends of yours?"

He shook his head. "FBI."

"Did they say what they wanted?"

He let out a snort of derision as she closed the door. "Official business. Like they'd tell local law enforcement anything." He glanced around the living room. "Where's the Lord High Inquisitor this evening?"

She shot him an odd look. "Have a seat. He knows the sound of a lap."

As instructed, he sank into the sofa cushions.

"Urr," Having trundled down the stairs in awkward hops, Salazar padded over to the couch.

Sandra bent down to lift the tabby under her chin. "Dinnertime, you old grump."

Jerry followed them into the kitchen, smiling at the red paw tucked over her shoulder. "Next, the siren song of the can opener."

She shook her head as she set the cat by his dish. "Try the dulcet tones of the pop-top."

Salazar merely waited, his patience diminishing with each passing moment, for the flat white china to descend from on high.

Donato was still smiling down at the cat when Sandra looked over. "Do you have any pets, Detective?"

He blinked at her for a moment. "It's Jerry, please, and, no, I don't. The hours I work are all wonky. In a way, I envy the freedom your position offers you."

She led them both back into the living room, where she settled on the couch. "Oh?"

After he relaxed into her overstuffed chair, he held up one hand. "Don't get me wrong. The academics I know work very, very hard. But, at least you get to set the hours you do work."

She twisted against the cushions. "So, shall I call you Pagan Morse?"

He grinned. "The eternal graduate student, hanging on to solve the mysterious deaths of dons in his old haunts? Yeah, why not. 'Pagan.' I like that."

She eyed him carefully, then took a deep breath. "There's something you should know - "

Oblivious to her discomfort, he pointed to a framed certificate on the wall. "Do you mind if I take a look at that?"

Immensely relieved, she shook her head. "Feel free. Only, I'm staying here. A certain person expects this."

He smirked. "But I thought, no one expects - "

She chuckled. "The Spanish Inquisition."

Still grinning, he turned to the wall. "Hey! Is this Hebrew?"

"Yes, it is." She waited until Salazar was settled to begin stroking his round head. "It's from my first adoption."

He looked back at her. "You were adopted twice? Isn't that fairly unusual?"

She stared out the window for a long moment. "I don't remember my childhood. The doctors thought I had been in an accident or something. My first real memory is of picking grapes for Kosher wine at a Kibbutz." She narrowed her eyes at him. "I was twelve at the time."

Donato felt a cold pain in his stomach, both at her words as well as the probing look on her face. He knew this was some kind of test, that his only hopes for a future with this woman hung on his answer. He crossed the room to stand in front of her. "I'm sorry. I can't imagine what it must be like to have that much of your life just snatched away."

She offered up a hesitant smile. "Oh, the Kibbutz was fun. We were there for two years before my adoptive parents were killed in Egypt."

He slumped into the chair. "Both sets of adoptive parents were killed?" He watched her nod. "I lost my father a few years ago, then Maria just after Thanksgiving." He rubbed the back of his neck with his palm.

They sat quietly, the only sound that of Salazar purring under her chin.

"I'm sorry."

Surprised, he looked over at her. "For what?"

She idly rubbed the fleshy pad of Salazar's paw. "For hitting you with all that."

He waved his hand. "No problem. With Tom's death, you've lost another link to your past. That, at least, I understand. All the things Maria and I shared, just swept away by a single bullet."

She hugged the tabby tightly. "We are a pair, aren't we?"

A nod, then his gaze dropped to the cat, who was blinking his way to a nap. "So, when does the Church require I have the good doctor home by?"

Sandra kissed the top of the feline's head gently. "All the time." She deposited the round warm ball on a cushion. "Every day." Rubbing her hands, she rose. "Let me finish dressing, then we can be on our way."

-o-0-o-

Ia, Santorini, Greece  
Sunday, May 24, 1998  
10:51 am

His hands shoved in the pockets of his khakis, Mulder watched Scully drop the samples into a glass tube of de-ionized water. She stirred vigorously with an eyedropper until the liquid itself was red, then began parceling the sample among three other vials of clear fluid. She had converted the open trunk of the Fiat convertible into an impromptu lab. She was explaining as she worked. "The first reagent tests for the presence of iron oxide, the second for hemoglobin, and the third for enzymes commonly found in human skin tissue."

He nodded. "So, we'll know if it's rust, but the other two test for?"

She gazed up at him. "Fraud, would be the easiest way to explain it. If someone was smearing a crime scene with blood plasma or stage blood to fake a murder location, those would show it up." A slight tweak to her left cheek, then she peered intently as the last of the drops of the sample were dispensed. "Didn't George Radthell do that?"

He smirked. "Been digging in my bottom drawers again, Doctor? I'm flattered."

She rested the dropper in the now empty tube, then straightened. "Doctor is *right*. I reserve digging in your drawers for medical emergencies." Waiting for the riposte, she arched both brows. When he opened and closed his mouth once, then a darkness settled behind his eyes, she offered what reassurance she could. "Mulder, they teach that at the Academy now. Rosen told me all about it."

He flushed as red as the contents of the vials. "Oh. I never knew."

The horrific details of the case remaining unspoken, Scully contented herself with grasping his wrist as she tried to soothe his discomfort. "See, you really aren't the FBI's most unwanted."

They watched as the liquid in the first vial turned clear, then green particles precipitated to the bottom, while the other two remained red.

Scully sighed. "Rust, nothing more."

Mulder brushed her elbow with his fingertips. "Only on TV do the cops find all the right clues on the first try."

After she had organized the contents of the kit for storage, then closed the trunk, she nodded. "And only on TV does the brave, handsome, and perfectly coiffured detective guess the answer correctly without leaving his desk."

Placing one long hand dramatically on his chest, Mulder smirked while holding the car door for her, but responded only with a single cluck of his tongue. Once both were inside, he glanced down at the bright yellow folder, now opened on her lap, that she had picked up in the shop. "So, where to next?"

She tucked wind-blown curls behind her ear. "More leading the way with the cold light of logic." After running her finger partway down the list of artists, she stopped at the penultimate name. "The body was found on Red Beach, right?"

He nodded. "So, we look for up-current potteries?"

She held the page in front of his nose. "Recognize the name?"

He turned the engine over. "Our supposedly distraught tour guide, or a family member. Tuck that paper away, Scully, we have a trip ahead of us."

-o-0-o-

Kung Food Vegetarian Restaurant  
Balboa Park, San Diego, California  
Saturday, May 23, 1998  
8:24 pm.

Their meal concluded, Jerry and Sandra were lingering over decaf cappuccino and peppermint tea.

He fingered his stem-shaped mug. "So, do you mind if I ask you more about that Hebrew certificate?"

She studied the green fluid carefully. "Yes. And no."

He cocked his head, but said nothing.

"The training was strictly sex-segregated, very rigorous academically. I was good at math, but lousy at Hebrew." She smiled. "That was until someone pointed out the Kabbalistic approach to Hebrew as mystical number puzzles. Then I was all over it."

They sat in silence, until Jerry asked, "So?"

She blinked, then laughed once. "I was about to say, what."

He grinned, then sobered. This evening had gone beautifully, so he was feeling adventurous. "Sorry. At least you know you come from a Jewish background, right?"

She shook her head. "Someone thought that I was. I honestly have no idea what my ethnic background is." She rubbed her right cheek with her palm.

Jerry noticed a small, flat mole there for the first time. "Those run in families, you know. Have you ever tried to find out who your original parents were, where they are right now?"

She shook her head. "Not really." She crossed her arms over her chest. "That's odd, for an adoptee, I know. Most of them go through some period of searching, of wondering about their pasts, fantasizing about their 'real' parents." She shrugged. "I just have this gut feeling that my past is something I'd really rather not know about. So, I leave it alone." She smiled. "I feel like I've had the freedom to make myself who I want me to be, not who other people want me to be."

He propped his chin on both fists. "You know, that's the strangest, yet most sensible approach to the whole issue I've heard yet."

She beamed openly at him. "Thank you."

He drained the last of his coffee. "It's odd."

Sandra leaned back in her chair. He had abandoned the precise and verbose persona of a peace officer to lapse into these strange lacunae in conversations. She couldn't work out whether this was how he and Maria had interacted in the past. Finally, she prompted him. "What's odd?"

He shook his head. "Most of the force is Catholic. I don't think I know of any Jews there."

She waggled her fingers. "Oh, I may have been raised in Israel, but I don't practice. In fact - "

They both looked down as his cell phone buzzed.

"Donato." The detective's mask had settled in place quickly. "Where? When?"

When he terminated the conversation, she was digging in her tiny beaded handbag. "Hazards of the profession, I know." She had slid out her credit card without looking up.

"It's Evans." Jerry was frowning, then, as the significance of her actions sunk in, he waved his hand. "No, no, I'll run you home. It's on the way."

-o-0-o-

"You're not running the siren. What happened?"

He shrugged. "He's dead."

She reached over to touch his hand. "I'm sorry."

He shook his head. "We didn't work together that long. Not like you and Tom. And we didn't see eye to eye when we did." He pointed without taking his hands off the steering wheel. "This street?"

She nodded. As they rolled to a stop in front of her house, she smiled. "I enjoyed tonight. Call me when you get home, or stop back by, if it isn't too late." She grasped his wrist. "I mean that."

He clasped her hand back, interlacing their fingers momentarily before he released her. "I will. Tuck in the Inquisitor for me, all right?"

-o-0-o-

142 Curie Avenue, University City  
San Diego, California  
Saturday, May 23, 1998  
11:27 pm

After squaring his shoulders, Jerry Donato reached out to rap the steel barrier in front of him with his fingertips. He was entirely uncertain whether a visit this late would be appreciated by the occupant he could glimpse through the windows by the light from the street lamp.

Sandra had glanced up with surprise at the knock on her door. After verifying that it was Donato outside, she unbarred the entrance to admit him. "So soon?"

He shrugged. "A heart attack." Shuffling into the living room, he smiled at the pair of orange-gold eyes blinking sleepily over the arm of the sofa. "Nothing more, probably. There'll be a medical examiner's investigation, then a full police funeral. He was a good cop, even if he and I couldn't stand to work together." He gazed over at her expectantly. He found his eyes drawn to her generous, yet less than full lips, then blinked his focus away. There was no way he could expect, as least for some time, to investigate the subdued attractions of her face.

She reached out to touch his wrist shyly. "There's something else you should know about me."

He arched both eyebrows. It seemed she could read his mind. As he settled in the overstuffed armchair he had found so comfortable earlier this evening, he worried that this was when he found out she was married, that she was gay, that she was revolted by his body odor. He decided to take the offensive. "Ah. This is where you tell me this was nice, but that we would never work because..."

After an odd little glance, she shook her head. "This is where I tell you about my faith."

He rubbed the back of his neck. She'd taken a vow of celibacy, was waiting to join a convent. There was some odd Jewish sect she was attracted to that required sexual abstinence for admission. He steeled himself. "Oh?"

She clasped and unclasped her hands. "Wicca."

He smirked. "And? You put something in my cappuccino so we can..."

"No!"

Her anguished cry told him he really would have to work on his choice of jokes around this woman. "Sorry." He held up both hands. "I've read a little about the faith. But, you tell me. Why Wicca? With a background in science and Judaism, you have to admit, it's a bit of a stretch."

After settling on the cushions, she shrugged. "Not as much as you might think. Wicca is the only religion I've encountered where women don't have to be ashamed of wanting to dream. There's this prayer in Judaism, you see, where a man thanks Yahweh that he wasn't born a slave, a Gentile, or a woman." She rubbed both palms together. "I learned that at the Kibbutz. Kind of puts you in your place, doesn't it?"

He nodded.

She eyed him, wondering if he was as open-minded as he appeared to be.

He frowned at her. "What?"

She crossed her arms. "I'd like to ask you to help me memorialize Tom and Maria. And Evans, if you like."

He rested his face in both hands. This was another of their little moments, he could tell. He considered making another lame joke, then thought better of it. "Sure. Where and when?"

She favored him with another dazzling smile. "Would tomorrow evening be all right?"

He grinned back. "Barring another case coming up..."

She accepted the possibility with a wave.

"Sure." He rubbed his hands on his knees. "It's late. I should go."

As they walked together to the door, she reached over to grasp his wrist. "Tomorrow, then, around eight in the evening."

-o-0-o-

Akrotiri Town  
Santorini, Greece  
Sunday, May 24, 1998  
1:37 pm

Mulder eased the Fiat into the long alley between two white-washed townhouses, then let the convertible roll to a halt. The darkened access-way dead-ended into a narrow flight of white steps that twisted out of view about half-way up. "More stairs. Like I should be surprised." As he turned off the engine, he looked to the auburn-haired pathologist beside him. "The next time I complain about traffic in DC, remind me of this place, all right?"

"I will."

He was almost to the bend in the stairs before he realized his partner was not just behind him. "Scully?" He turned back in surprise at the faintness of her reply.

She was standing behind the convertible, her voice muffled by the raised trunk. "Sorry, Mulder, I wanted to retrieve some of my test kits, but the only way to exit was to crawl over the seats and slide down the back."

He ambled down to her side. "Scully! You should have said you were having a problem."

She cocked an eyebrow at him.

The tall agent held out a hand, offering, by way of apology, to be laden down with one of the black cases tucked in the rear compartment. "I wondered where you disappeared to so long when we stopped by home for lunch."

"Home, Mulder?" One cheek creased. "I could get to like it here, too." She handed him the larger of the two kits. "But, I was hoping you could save us both some work." She shouldered another black bag, then slammed the trunk shut.

His eyebrows canted into a confused slant.

She tossed her head, then stretched up into his face. "I was hoping you would run on ahead and bump into the clue that would solve this murder."

Grinning, he tapped her nose, then slipped on the wide, black strap. "Glad to have you back, Doctor." He held up the case. "So, what is all this?"

"More of the new test kits the Bureau is experimenting with sending out in the field. Pendrell loaned me these before I left, in case we ran across any more evidence on Samantha, or, the shape-shifters." She tucked her hair behind her ear. "I'm not the sort of woman who packs twenty pairs of shoes to go places, now am I?"

He bent over her. "And I give thanks every day for such small favors."

She pointed to his bag. "The one you have is a field kit for blood typing."

"Ooh, and is it stocked with wooden stakes and hammers, Doctor?"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Mine is the chemical kit we used this morning. If we run into many more kilns, I've added test compounds for the various minerals used to color glazes."

As they eased, single-file, past the Fiat, Mulder called back over his shoulder without turning his head. "Oh? Why would that be important now? We suspect he inhaled gases from a kiln before he was killed." He glanced back, a pinched frown distorting his face. "Although, that is one *lousy* way to shuffle off ye old mortal coil."

"There were excess levels of cobalt and manganese found in the lung tissues. I'd like to test for those, if the opportunity provides itself."

He nodded. "The cobalt turns a glaze a distinctive blue, and the manganese orange, as I recall."

As he stepped clear of the automobile, she squeezed in front of him to trot to the base of the stairs. "Another gold star for you, partner." She tossed a teasing glance over her shoulder, then raced up the steps out of his sight.

Mulder had just placed his foot on the whitewashed brick landing when he heard a loud thump, then a soft 'ow,' followed by an even softer thud. "Scully!" He was up the stairs in a sprint. She was huddled along one low wall, her right palm pressed against her cheek, the other hand clutching the black test kit. He was crouching to reach for her as he stepped onto the grass. "Let me see."

Blinking with chagrin, she slid her fingers away from her face. "And here I was teasing you."

He winced at the bloody mess her cheek had become. "These kits of yours wouldn't contain anything as low-tech as cotton and antiseptic, now would they?"

She nodded. "There's cotton in both, but the antiseptic's back in my doctor's bag in the trunk. Why? Am I bleeding?" The auburn-haired woman glanced down at her palm. "Oh. Oh, no." She shrank back against the wall. "I must have hit myself up there." She pointed to an orange ceramic pipe, with a broken, jagged end, protruding from the wall. The vent exited at his chest-height.

Mulder had a quick flash of himself, rolling on the grass, clutching his shoulder. "Well, you saved me from myself once again." He gripped her elbow. "Stay here." When he returned, her black medical bag in his hand, he tapped the locking flap. "Should I expect ordered by size and color-coded when I open this?"

But Scully was lost in self-recrimination. "I am *such* an idiot." Her hand was back over her face, her mutters of self-reproach continuing inaudibly.

He lifted her fingers away carefully. "Scully?"

She blinked, then focused on his darkening eyes. "Hum?"

"You have any topical anesthetic in here?"

She frowned down at the interior of the bag, then lifted out a clear plastic spray bottle containing a dark blue liquid. "Try this." She watched him work the pump experimentally. "Why? What's wrong? I can take care of it, just hold up that mirror."

Mulder shook his head. "No, you can't." When she stuck out her chin in protest, he wagged a long finger. "There are bits of glass and ceramic in there. That'll take two hands *not* working in reverse." He gripped her chin. "Now, hold still." Clenching a pair of tweezers, he set to his task, clucking as he worked on her face. Once he had applied antiseptic, patches, and butterfly bandages, he sat back on his ankles to adopt an exaggerated smirk. "So, should we send out our invitations on embossed parchment, or use the modern, high-tech approach and announce with E-mails?"

She blinked at him uncomprehendingly, then cocked an eyebrow at him. "No, let's keep it our little secret, Mulder. Any formal notification would dash Frohike's paranoid little hopes on the rocks out there."

Still anxious, he gripped her wrist. "You okay, Scully?"

Resting her free hand on his, she nodded. "I will be, thanks to you." She stared up at him, her lips tweaking at the concern she still read in his eyes. "You did good, partner." She hoped her words would set his mind at ease.

Finally reassured, he released her to wave his hands helplessly over the mess. "Sorry. I don't know where things go here."

She rolled onto her knees. "No problem. You can't be good at everything, Mulder."

As she worked, he frowned at the protruding ceramic vent that had injured her. "It looks like you weren't the only one to hit this recently, Scully." He pointed to a spot closer to the wall. "You may get to play with your fancy new G-woman toys yet."

She was wiggling into a pair of latex gloves as she rose to stand beside him. "Oh?" The auburn-haired agent frowned intently at the side of the pipe. "This may be important, Mulder. The victim's hair was black and curly, like these." She used a different pair of tweezers to drop the strands in an evidence bag. "Of course, so is that of much of the population of the island." She held the bag up to the light. "There may be enough DNA here to test against the decedent's."

Mulder shook his head. "He was taller than you are. So, if he hit his head, it was because he tripped and fell against it, or - "

Scully pointed down the stairs. "Or, someone knocked him down from behind as he was attempting to escape. The hair was on the yard side of the pipe, not the street side."

Mulder had his hands in his pockets. "You wouldn't happen to - thanks." Scully was holding out a pair for him. "I wonder where this pipe leads?"

"I have a fingerprint kit in the trunk, so we can dust the pipe." She began descending the stairs with the evidence and kits. "Just be careful, Mulder."

"Pot, Scully." He smirked just after she disappeared. The tall agent first attempted to peer down the vent with the aid of a small pocket flash, but it took a right angle just inside the wall. Through a flat, long window, he could see it running through the darkened interior of the back room of the building, so he trotted to the rear entrance. Once there, he was confronted by three dead bolts, all engaged. He dug for his pick-locks, but, once through, found four chains held the steel barrier in place. It was at that moment he heard Scully call for him, so shut the door, then descended to check in with her.

-o-0-o-

142 Curie Avenue, University City  
San Diego, California  
Sunday, May 24, 1998  
7:56 pm

As Jerry Donato made his way up the long driveway, he found himself comparing his considerably elevated spirits with yesterday's trepidation. Things were going well with Sandra, he could tell. She had a brilliant, quirky mind, like Maria, but not. He knocked once, then broke into a broad grin. "Hello." The door had begun swinging away.

"Hello." He was greeted by a slightly blonder, yet very haggard Judy Wilton.

As Donato stepped inside, he glanced around the darkened living room. "Where's the Inquisitor? Where's Sandra?"

She pointed up the stairs. "Seignior de Frias is taking his evening repose on Sandra's antique quilt." She leaned toward him conspiratorially. "The one place he's never supposed to be, you know." She waited for his grin. "Sandra's out back." She eyed his tie and jacket. "Those have to go. This isn't a church service." She pointed down. "And the shoes."

He glanced down at her bare feet. "So, I don't have to lose all the clothes?"

She rolled her eyes. "This isn't *that* kind of ritual. Just remove whatever makes you feel uncomfortable and out of touch with your true self." She pointed through the kitchen. "We'll be in the garden when you're ready."

After dropping the tie and jacket over the back of the sofa, he stripped off his loafers and socks. He moved slowly toward the back, then turned to shed his badge, gun, and cell phone on top of the leather. Somehow, those didn't seem appropriate here. His only concession to his job was the beeper he tucked in his shirt pocket. This was the one Maria had always used to find him, no matter what, so he refused to turn it in, even after the Department had stopped hardware maintenance for them. There were newer models issued, of course. Only on TV cop shows did the cellular phones always work.

Feeling considerably lightened, he stepped through onto the deck, from which he could hear Judy speaking with Sandra, something about her plants, not that it registered much with him. He could only drink in the sight of the long curls, blowing gently in the night breeze.

Sandra broke into a broad smile. "You know how much Salazar and I love it out here. It's good to have a safe place to come." She reached for his hand when she saw him approaching. "Good to have you here, Jerry."

He grasped her fingers lightly. "I'm happy you asked me. So, how do we begin?"

She rose, letting him take in the pale blue robe that billowed around her lanky form. "With this." She pulled him into a long, warm embrace.

He pushed aside the thrill of his head pressed against her shoulder.

When she stepped back, Judy moved forward, then clasped him around the waist. "Thank you for everything, Detective Donato."

Surprised to be hugging someone as short as he, he rubbed her spine. "You're welcome. I'm sorry we had to meet under such terrible circumstances."

She clutched him. "I know." Releasing him, she turned away for a moment. When she could speak, she began with a shaky grin. "But, you've been so kind to both of us. And you found out who did this terrible thing."

Jerry shook his head. "I only wish justice could have been served."

"But, it was." Sandra smiled wanly. "In a cosmic sense." She held out her hand to him again. "Come. Now is not the time for retribution, but remembrance."

He grasped her fingers gently. "So, what do I do?"

Sandra led him out into the center of her garden, to the low circular platform where the sundial and birdbath stood. There, she had thick dark cushions arranged in a rough triangle, each with a single fat candle in front of it. At the center of the triangle, a single tall white candle flickered. She pointed to one of the pillows. "Just sit."

Jerry lifted his gaze to see that Judy had already claimed the bolster by the sundial. He settled in, pleased that the cushions were so comfortable. Feeling completely adrift, he dropped his hands in his lap to wait.

-o-0-o-

Sandra knelt on the remaining pillow, then held her hands aloft as she bowed her head. "Great Mother, Giver of life and caretaker of those who walk the earth no longer, we come to you this night, seeking to tell you of three souls, special to those of your children who are here." She lifted a taper from beside the white candle, ignited the end, then lit the deep blue candle in front of her. As it burned, she recalled making it, stirring rosemary, thyme, and mint from her garden into the hot wax, then myrrh, cinnamon and nutmeg, finally adding indigo for color.

She inhaled deeply before dropping the taper in a bowl of water by the white candle. "Tom Wilton was my closest friend. He knew my mind, he knew what I loved, and shared those loves." She paused, lifting her eyes to Judy's. "He corrected me when I would veer from our search for knowledge, buoy my spirits when the way seemed too hard. I want to remember him in the lab, laughing at me while I struggled to calibrate my anemometers, then pitching in to write some of that awful spaghetti code of his, that somehow seemed to just do the trick." She folded her hands in her lap.

Judy leaned forward, duplicating Sandra's gestures, repeating her opening invocation. "I, too, want you to care for my beloved Tom, the man who never failed to challenge me to be the best in everything I wanted to do, who kept me from being discouraged when I was struggling to earn tenure, just as he was. I will never know another like him. I want to remember him, late at night, rubbing my feet with a towel after a bath, then snuggling close to make me feel safe and loved." She bit her lip, turning her head to look toward Jerry.

Donato's hands were shaking as he lit his candle, then set it down. Closing his eyes as he folded his hands, he sighed. "I'm not sure I want to say that first part, but I do want somebody to remember the Maria I knew."

"That's all right, Jerry, just talk." Sandra shifted in her crouch.

He opened his eyes to meet hers for a moment, then closed them again. "We made Detective together, then were partners for six years before she was..." He colored momentarily. "I know Maria was a Catholic, but I don't want to think of her, well..." He glanced over at Sandra, who was smiling encouragement. "I'd like to think she's with all the kids from her old neighborhood, the ones she tried to keep straight, and that they're all in a good place." He felt the corners of his lips tweaking. "I'd like to think of her giving it to them for messing up." He folded his hands in his lap. "The way I'd like to remember her best is when we were on stakeout. She'd tell me stories about her relatives, schemes they'd try to pull off to make money that were so nuts I couldn't believe them." He looked up at the stars, then down at the flickering candles. "But, wherever she is, if there's some job she could do to help people, I know that's what she'd want to be doing."

Sandra reached over to grasp his wrist. "That's fine, Jerry." She lifted a flat piece of stiff bread off a silver tray she had set out by the white candle. "Now, just as we share this bread in memory of our lost ones-" Here, she broke the loaf in three equal pieces. "-we will continue to share what those lost ones meant to us."

She passed a third to each of the other two. "Tom was there when I found out my parents had been killed. It was a tough stretch; we were both preparing to defend our theses. There were times when I couldn't write, I just sat and cried. Tom would close the door and hold my hand, or me, until I could stop." She looked over at Judy. "I never had the chance to tell him how much that meant, how I couldn't have gotten through without him there."

Judy nodded. "He knew. Believe me, Sandra, he knew." She licked her lips, then launched into another story.

The talking, interspersed with some laughter and not a few tears, went on into the night. The moon rose, then set, but the three continued until they were hoarse, the candles burned down to nubs.

Sandra turned to Jerry. "Would you like to say a few words about Evans?"

He rubbed the back of his neck. "Just that I hope he's at peace, wherever he is."

She nodded. "Then, I think we should go inside and have some tea. It's chilly out here."

-o-0-o-

Akrotiri Town  
Santorini, Greece  
May 24, 1998  
2:13 pm

"Mulder! Mulder, come here!" Scully's near-soprano radiated excitement.

He flung himself down the stairs, then swung himself over the hood of the Fiat to land in the narrow back seat. "What is it?" He tried to peer around the raised trunk of the car.

She stuck the test tube out beyond the side of the steel with a flourish. "It's the same blood type as our victim's: AB positive, which is fairly rare, and not at all typical of the local population here on Santorini."

He grinned. "You should see what - "

Stepping around to the rear driver's door, she was waggling the bag happily. "I checked with my hand lens. There's enough tissue here to DNA-test. So, when we return to police headquarters, we can send it off to Athens."

He reached for her wrist. "You need to come with me, Scully."

She focused on him, finally. "Oh? Why?"

"The back door's triple dead-bolted, with four chain-locks on the inside."

The auburn-haired agent frowned. "That's odd. Why all the security for a back entrance that's enclosed in a walled yard, yet leave the shop that's on the main street of the town open and unattended?" She shook her head. "At least the Guild headquarters in Ia was off the beaten path."

He tugged on her elbow. "I need you to help me get inside. Your hands are small enough that you can slide the chains off from the outside."

She crossed her arms. "No."

He threw himself out of the car to bend into her face. "What? What do you mean, no, Scully?"

She pressed her fists into her hips. "We're skating the fine edge of legality here, Mulder." She pointed to the kit in the open trunk. "With the evidence we have here, as well as any evidence we might find up there, we can go back and enlist Patikopolis and his detectives to help us."

"What!" He spun angrily, then ran one hand through his hair. "Scully, it was suspicious from the first that he produced our tour guide with her facile non-story so fast, wouldn't you agree? How do we know that they aren't in on something illegal, that they aren't keeping something from us?" Chest heaving, he bent over her.

She glared up at him, then dropped her gaze to the cobbled alley. After a moment or two, she nodded before she looked back up at him. "After what we've seen, how little we know of this victim, how little we know of the people he was obviously pursuing, we don't."

With an audible sigh, he dropped a hand to her shoulder.

Moving away from him, she turned back to the samples. "We should check for fingerprints. We'll have to stop by the police station to compare any we might find with the decedent's, and we'll have to tell Patikopolis something." At his fidget, she held up one hand. "But, we won't tell him about the hair samples. Let's send those, express delivery, back to the Gunmen. Then, we'll head back to your Mom's and have Agent Curtis E-mail us a duplicate of the test results there."

Grinning, he brushed her elbow with his fingertips. "You in antique lace, I in an Austrian tux, Scully."

She tossed her head. "I was rather thinking of you and me, digging in take-out boxes while we hash out the political divisions in the shape-shifters' culture all night long, myself."

He touched her shoulder happily. "Even better, Doctor, even better."

-o-0-o-

142 Curie Avenue, University City  
San Diego, California  
Sunday, May 24, 1998  
9:11 pm

Donato watched Sandra smile at the thump-thump-thump-thump they heard.

She leaned forward. "That'll be Salazar. It's about his snack-time." The three turned as the tabby padded into the kitchen. She ran her finger along the upright tail, then stood to shake more pellets of cat food into a bowl.

Jerry wrapped his hands around his mug. "I must admit, that wasn't what I expected."

Judy cocked an eyebrow. "And, what did you expect? Disembodied heads rising out of a cauldron?"

He laughed. "No. I only read anything about Wicca around Halloween." He glanced up at Sandra, who was pressing her fingers against her temple. "Sandra? Are you all right?" He stood to guide her into her chair.

She blinked up at them both. "I thought I heard someone at the door, but I turned my head, and now I feel strange."

Judy set her mug down at the table. "I'll go check."

Sandra was rubbing both temples now. "Don't open the door. It's not Mom. Don't open it. They can't reach us if we don't open the door, Fox."

From his crouch by her side, Jerry had gathered her long chestnut curls out of her face. "Who?" He glanced over when Judy, who was shaking her head as she stepped into the kitchen, but had stopped to turn back. "Does she know a Fox?"

Judy grasped Sandra's shoulder. "She wasn't speaking to you?"

The detective frowned.

Judy bent over to whisper in Sandra's ear, "Sandie?"

The brunette took a deep breath, then straightened. "Yes?"

Jerry rose, propping his weight against the oak table while crossing his arms. "Do you remember what you just said?"

She nodded. "It's time for Salazar's snack." She pointed. "See, there he is, crunching away." She glanced from one concerned face to the other. "What?"

Jerry shook his head. "You were telling someone named Fox not to open the door. You said something about 'they can't come in if you don't open the door.' Does that mean anything to you?"

Sandra hugged herself. "No. Was I remembering a game I played as a child? I don't know. I didn't have any secret hiding places at the Kibbutz, at least that I remember."

Jerry slid his chair over, then sat. "Why would you think of the Kibbutz first?"

She narrowed her hazel eyes at him. "I don't know. Just that we were in Palestinian territory, and they weren't too happy to have us there. There was a tremendous concern for security."

Judy took her hand. "Sandra, this may be important. We've been remembering lost ones all night long, and your past is full of things and persons lost. May we look through your Kibbutz photographs? Just in case we find someone named Fox?"

She nodded. "But, why do you think it would be a person?"

Jerry grasped her shoulder. "Usually kids don't expect imaginary friends to be capable of opening doors. On some level, they understand that the friend is not corporeal." He kept his hand on her arm as she rose. "You don't have to get up, just tell us where they are."

She shook her head. "No, this is easier." She leaned gently against his support. "Thank you, both, for being here." She scooped up Salazar, who grunted in protest, since he had been concentrating on industriously licking the pad on his rear left foot.

As she led them upstairs, Judy nodded. "I'm happy we were, Sandie. You may have had these little glimpses of your past come through for you, but without someone here to see it, you wouldn't have been aware of what had happened."

They filed into Sandra's study. As they worked, opening yearbooks and documents, the floor was gradually covered by evidence of their search. Salazar had hopped free of the brunette's arms when they entered to take up his perch on the back of the computer monitor.

After an hour or so of examination, Jerry's beeper chirped. "'Scuse me." He hurried across the room to his cell, which he had rested on the desk top by the PC. He listened politely, then punched the end button. "Sorry, duty calls."

Sandra walked beside him, waiting while he slipped back into his shoes, tie, and jacket, then guided him to her front door. "Thanks for coming tonight." She hugged him again. "I hope this helped put your mind at ease."

He held her by the waist carefully. "I'll check back in as soon as I can." He captured her cheeks between his palms. "I'd like to help you find your past, if you want me to."

She stepped away to unlock the door. "You've been up all night. Are you sure you'll be all right?"

He nodded. "Been through worse." He took her hand again. "I'll call."

She waved as he drove away.

-o-0-o-

Northern Precinct  
San Diego Police Department  
San Diego, California  
Sunday, May 24, 1998  
11:33 pm

Jerry adjusted his tie as he stepped through the precinct's double door. "Hey," he called to Richard Gonzales, who was fidgeting anxiously by his desk. "What's happened?"

The Latino officer shook his head. "Jerry, whatever happens, I don't believe it."

Donato frowned. "Don't believe what?"

Gonzales glanced hollowly at Johnson's office, then sighed. "About Evans."

Jerry rubbed the back of his neck tiredly. "Evans. I should..."

The Latino officer held up his hand. "Jerry, don't say anymore."

Both men turned as Johnson stepped out of his office. "Detective Donato, I need to speak with you in private."

Jerry eyed the heads bent studiously over keyboards. Whatever this was, it wasn't good. He walked through into the glassed-in space, then checked over his shoulder to see the Sergeant speaking quietly with Gonzales. With a single backward glance, the younger man stepped away.

After entering, Johnson waved Donato into a chair. "Detective, I'd like you to meet Lieutenant Marks from Internal Affairs. She has some questions for you." He leaned back in his seat.

Donato faced a rather tired-looking strawberry blonde, who had just opened a small leather-backed notebook. "Ma'am?"

She simply shook her head. "Detective, what can you tell me about Detective Evans' death?" The oft-spoken question emerged in a scratchy contralto.

Jerry caught his sergeant's eye for a long moment. "Not a whole lot." He shrugged. "Why? Has something unusual turned up in the autopsy?"

Marks simply scribbled a note in response. "We're attempting to chronicle his last few hours, and Dispatch reported that you called a cruiser to come to your aid at his residence. What can you tell me about that?"

Donato let out a slow sigh. "Well, yeah, I did. He called me. He sounded really, really out of it."

"Called you?" The investigator eyed him suspiciously.

"On my cellular phone."

"Ah." She scratched at the paper. "This is your Department phone?"

He nodded, then related his encounter with Evans, finishing with, "Once he went inside, he settled in his easy chair. He said he felt like a nap. I left his Department phone on the side table by him and told him to call the precinct house if he needed any help. He mumbled something, then started snoring."

Marks narrowed her green eyes at him. "So, he was definitely alive when you left him?"

Jerry glanced at the Sergeant, who was listening to the conversation with his arms crossed. "Yes." He punctuated his statement with a firm nod. "Yes, he was. Quite loudly alive, as a matter of fact."

The blonde smiled mirthlessly. "Was his behavior with you typical?"

Donato rubbed the back of his neck. "We didn't work together long enough for me to know what was typical, to be honest. He swore almost constantly. I know that's sometimes considered a sign of mental instability."

Marks cocked a penciled brow. "Oh? Are you a psychologist, Detective Donato?"

Jerry leaned away from her. "No more so than to read suspects, Ma'am."

She shook her head. "Well, I've heard about his mouth from others. But, it might surprise you to know that there are teenagers who use that degree of obscenity as a matter of course. Are you saying they're *all* mentally unstable, Detective?"

Johnson's chair creaked. "Lieutenant, are you making an accusation here?"

She glared. "Not necessarily. Unless this whole precinct has something to hide." She turned back to Donato. "So, where were you between the time you left him and when you were called back on duty?"

Jerry studied his thick fingers, which were clutching the arm rests of his chair. To admit to his whereabouts, in the company of witnesses in a not-yet-completely-closed murder investigation, in decidedly informal circumstances, would, at this moment, appear foolish and improper. He forced himself to relax. "I'd... I'd rather not say, Ma'am."

The African-American rose to stand beside him. "Detective, I don't think you understand..."

Donato cleared his throat. "If you don't mind, Sir, I'd really rather not say. It was rather, well, personal."

Johnson rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. "Then I'm afraid I'll have to ask for your shield and weapon, Detective."

"What?" Jerry gripped the arms of the chair again. "You, you think I *killed* him?"

Marks nodded. "Your story doesn't wash, Mister Donato. The autopsy revealed that Detective Evans had been given a massive injection of testosterone. The Medical Examiner's office estimates that his heart had been pumping at a rate of upwards of 250 beats per minute when his fatal coronary occurred. You and your former partner, Maria Hernandez, had solved a case previously where an endorphin/hormone cocktail had been used as a lethal weapon. You and the decedent had been seen disagreeing, as a matter of fact, Sergeant Johnson had been forced to separate the pair of you, only a few weeks ago. While I don't like seeing an officer go bad, especially one with your future, Detective, you are our most likely suspect."

Jerry was on his feet. "But, just because he and I didn't work well together is no reason to suspect me of his death! He needed help! He wasn't making any sense. I had to make sure he was okay when I stopped by, but I didn't kill him." His furor spent, he sank into the chair. "That I would take a case Maria and I,... Maria..." He shook his head.

Johnson rested his hand on his detective's shoulder. "I'm sure we'll find the real killer soon, Jerry. But, until then, you're our only suspect. This will all be cleared up in a few days, just watch." He extended his free hand. "Until then?"

With a sigh, Donato turned over the badge and gun. "Sir, I didn't *do* anything. I just wanted to help him. He accused me of stealing his pension!"

The Sergeant nodded. "I know. This isn't an effort to railroad you, Detective." He stared at Marks intently. "I'll see to that."

The Lieutenant closed her notebook before she rose. "As I'm certain you realize, you'll be suspended with pay until this matter is concluded. Please keep yourself available for further questioning." She led the way out of the office with a firmly raised chin.

-o-0-o-

Road to Phira  
Santorini, Greece  
Sunday, May 24, 1998  
3:19 pm

Mulder canted his eyes towards his partner as they spun around yet another bend in the road. He knew, now, that she would not be walking out of the X-Files and his life when they returned to the States in a few weeks. If she were still thinking of leaving, she would have used her uncharacteristic clumsiness as yet another reason. Nor would she be looking forward to late-night arguments about matters she would, at one point in their partnership, have considered science fiction.

"Mulder?" Her low alto broke gently into his thoughts.

"Doctor?" He smirked, but kept his eyes on the road.

"You act like you're feeling good. You have a theory?"

He grinned. "Won't say."

She shook her head. "Oh? What would it take to get you to share? Gold-pressed latinum?"

He waggled his eyebrows.

"Mulderrrrr."

He chuckled. "Can't share what you don't have. After we compare the fingerprints we've found at the shop to those on the corpse, then I may have something."

"Hum." She crossed her arms. "Don't you think it's odd we weren't approached by anyone back there?"

He pushed his hair out of his eyes. "What do you mean?"

"Well, most of those shops are actually the first floor of a family residence. Yet, two strangers drive up, one conks herself on the head, the other tries to break into the back door of a neighbors' house. But, no one comes out to challenge us, or, on this most tourist-oriented of islands, offer assistance."

He wiggled happily in his seat. "Ah, Scully, you were doing a fine job on conking yourself on the head, all on your own." He waited a beat for the Look to shoot his way, then nodded. "But, you're right. Someone should have said something, or called the police. And, they can't all be at Sunday dinner this late in the afternoon. Hum."

They lapsed into silence for the remainder of the drive.

-o-0-o-

Police Headquarters  
Phira, Santorini, Greece  
Sunday, 5:23 pm

Officer Patikopolis was pacing in front of the white building when they arrived. "Agents! It's terrible! You must come quickly."

As soon as Mulder turned the engine off, the partners were out of the Fiat. "What?" The tall agent growled.

"It's the refrigeration unit out back. We had the body kept there, but the cooling failed."

Scully exchanged a glance with Mulder before she crossed her arms. "When did you find this out?"

Patikopolis was charging through the building, the agents on his heels. "We put the, er, victim out in the meat freezer just as you said, Agent Scully. If I don't have the air conditioner going, I can hear the compressor running from my office. But today it was cool, so I opened the windows. I noticed the compressor wasn't running then. I was about to check it when you pulled up."

Mulder tugged the auburn-haired woman to a halt. "We were right to be suspicious, Scully."

She nodded. "Although, if he were attempting a cover-up, he might have gone for something more original."

He bent close to her ear. "Or, something more original might raise suspicions."

"Agents?" The officer was stepping out the back exit, so they hurried to join him. "It can't have been that long, or else - " He pulled open the freezer door, then began coughing.

Mulder put his hand over his nose. "Jeez, Scully, I'm glad this is your line of work."

While heading back inside for a mask and gloves, she waved at his comment.

-o-0-o-

Scully stepped into Patikopolis' tiny office. "I'd estimate the corpse had been at ambient temperature for a week." Having stripped off her gloves outside the building, she was just removing her mask. "I took what tissue samples could still provide us some clues."

Mulder, his arms crossed, had been leaning against the far wall. He had spent the past hour glowering at the policeman. "Great. That's just great."

Patikopolis, for his part, had spent the time studiously avoiding the tall agent's glare. With the auburn-haired pathologist's return, he waved her into the seat her partner had refused to occupy. "Agent Scully, this whole incident troubles me deeply. We don't have many murders, or even many deaths, here on Thera. I came to you because I wanted this solved as quickly as possible, with a minimum of disruption to the coming tourist season."

Mulder could take the excuses no longer. "So, you destroy the only tangible evidence we have in this case? Is *that* how you were trained to perform your duties?" He leaned over the desk. "Or are you trying to cover up something you're afraid we'll find out?"

Scully rose to place her hand on his arm. "Mulder-" The agent was stalking out of the room. She turned to the Greek officer. "Sir, you must understand, that in our line of work, we've met with our fair share of obstruction of justice. My partner has, as a result, a very low tolerance for anything he perceives as shoddy police work."

The black-haired officer nodded. "As well he should."

Scully crossed her arms. "Officer Patikopolis, perhaps you can help us with something."

Immensely relieved, he sighed.

She pointed in the general direction of Akrotiri. "Why would a row of homes be empty on Sunday afternoon?"

He broke into a broad smile. "Ah." He tapped the side of his nose. "Town meeting. They're debating on petitioning Athens to return the Akrotiri frescoes. That would involve raising a good deal of cash to house the treasures properly. With the Greek parliament calling for the return of the Elgin marbles, well, they figured the time was right." He held up both hands. "There are many, many opinions to be aired on the subject. I suspect Maximilian is there offering several."

Scully lifted one corner of her mouth. "I'd imagine he would be. We'll let you know what we find out."

-o-0-o-

Mulder was fuming by the convertible when Scully emerged. "So? What did he say?"

She held the fingerprint sheet out to him. "There's no mystery as to why the houses in Akrotiri were empty. They're in a town meeting." She made a point of glancing around the blue bowl of the sky. "At least there were no little girls giggling at us."

"Yeah. Just let me go push on a tree or two to be sure." He held the car door for her, a chivalrous gesture for so low a barrier that it set her eyebrows tweaking. "Ah. Did you..."

She shook her head. "Given what he told me, I think we're wise to pursue this through the Gunmen. The mainland government and the island's officials won't be cooperating with each other for a while." She waved to the south. "Home, James. We have work ahead of us."

He turned over the engine. "You wish is my command, Ma'am."

-o-0-o-

Northern Precinct  
San Diego Police Department  
San Diego, California  
Monday, May 25, 1998  
7:21 am

Patricia Marks watched Sandra Miller march determinedly between the desks. The woman moved with a fluid, almost feline grace, her long arms swinging wide arcs about her. When she was visible from head to toe, Patricia found herself envious of the professor's comfortable khakis and walking shoes. Her own steps, she knew, were jerky from fatigue and her three inch heels. Her fashionably short skirt pinched her waist after a long night of wear. "This is her typical behavior?" She turned to Johnson, who had sloughed off his tie and rolled up his sleeves.

The African-American nodded. "She's always acted like a woman on a mission whenever I've seen her. This may be how she deals with grief."

The blonde flipped through her notebook looking for clean sheet. "You're certain she wasn't responsible for-" She turned back a few pages. "-Wilton's death?"

Johnson sighed. "Our most likely suspect is languishing in a coma, Lieutenant. If anyone, we have her to thank for us finding him." He straightened in his chair as the subject of their discussion reached for the door knob. "I expect she'll hound whoever takes on the prosecution of the case until Professor Williams is behind bars, stroke or no."

Sandra tossed her chestnut hair as she entered. "Good Morning, Sergeant. What do you have new on Tom's murder?"

Marks rose to extend her hand, noting that their witness wore no make-up or perfume. The police Lieutenant found herself envious, yet again, of the other woman's freedom. She suspected her own mascara was darkening her eyelids from the number of times she had rubbed her face this night. "Doctor Sandra Miller. I'm Patricia Marks from the Internal Affairs Division. I have a few questions for you regarding Detective Donato."

Sandra's grip and release were firm and quick. "Oh? What is this about?"

Johnson rose as well. "He's been charged with Detective Evans' murder, Professor Miller."

A narrowing of hazel eyes. "What? Jerry? You must be joking!"

Aching to slip out of her heels, Marks resumed her seat. "Not at all. Charging a peace officer with the willful death of any person is a sobering business, but it's worse when the victim is a fellow-detective. That they had been partners, well..." She shook her head.

Johnson waved to one of the chairs in front of his desk, but Sandra remained standing. "Detective Donato has been temporarily relieved of duty, but I honestly don't expect it will be for long." He glanced at Marks again. "If you assist us, that is."

Sandra sank into one of the aluminum chairs. "All right. What is it you need to know?"

The blonde officer uncapped her pen. "Do you have any idea where Jerry Donato was Saturday evening?"

The chestnut-haired professor blinked. "Why, haven't you talked to him? He was with me."

Marks raised her eyes from the paper at Johnson's cluck of surprise. "Oh?"

Sandra nodded. "We had dinner together."

Johnson sighed as he leaned forward. "Oh? When did he arrive?"

After a brief recap of the evening's events, the professor shook her head. "I have no idea why he wouldn't want to tell you any of this. It was only dinner, and he left when he was paged. When he returned from finding out about Evans, he talked about what a good cop he was." She faced the Lieutenant directly. "You've actually charged him with this? You're serious?"

Marks glared. "Our autopsy showed that Evans died from the effects of a massive injection of testosterone. The male body has specific mechanisms for the production or removal of hormones."

"Yes, I know." Sandra waved a hand. "It's part of the fight or flight mechanism we evolved to deal with predators. So, was there elevated output from the Pituitary gland? That's the master controller for hormone production, or so I've read."

The long, tiring night had frayed Patricia Marks' nerves to the breaking point. "Don't presume to tell us how to do our jobs! For all we know, *you* assisted Detective Donato in the perpetration of this crime!"

The professor was across the room in two steps. "Don't you dare! Don't you dare use psychological tactics on me! I told you the truth when I walked in the door. There's nothing more that needs to be said. If you don't believe me, I'll dig out my credit card receipt. We went Dutch, at my insistence. Jerry's a policeman, but I make good money." She had pulled herself to her full height to tower over the seated woman.

"We may just ask you to do that." Marks kept her contralto level.

The sound of a ringing phone brought their attentions back to Johnson's desk. "Yes?" The affirmation came out as a bark. "Ah, I see." His face softened. "Send him in." He replaced the hand unit. "This should be interesting."

A slender, brown-haired man in an expensive suit had moved from the receiving desk to fidget anxiously outside Johnson's office.

The African-American crossed to open his glass door. "Come in, Sir."

He flashed a nervous smile as he entered. "Pardon the interruption. I'm Mitch Toloso." He tugged down his sleeves.

Marks wondered if he had seen her exchange with Sandra Miller.

"I'm here from the firm of Houlihan, Jackson, Shepherd, and Whittington. We represent Gerald William Donato?"

An exchange of confused glances among the three. Finally Johnson rose. "When did Detective Donato engage your services?"

Toloso waved the question away. "That's not relevant here." He turned to the chestnut-haired professor. "Are you Doctor Sandra Ann Miller?"

After an eyes-narrowed glare, she nodded.

The attorney held out a business card toward her. "Please make your way to our law offices at your earliest convenience. We have some questions we need to ask you."

"All right." Sandra took the slip of cardboard. "As soon as the officers are finished here," she agreed as she read the address, "I'll call a cab to take me there."

"Thank you." Toloso bowed to the peace officers. "Pardon the interruption, yet again." He spun, then left.

Marks turned to Sandra. "Did you do this? Did you engage this firm's services?"

The professor rose. "I most certainly did not. Now, if you have no further questions, I need to find out what this is about."

Johnson nodded. "I think we're through here. Just stay in touch, Doctor Miller."

Her hand on the doorknob, Sandra turned. "Don't worry. I have every intention of doing exactly that." She glared down at Marks. "You have the wrong man. Just wait. You'll see."

Wanting nothing more than to return home, the blonde stood. "I honestly hope you're correct, Ma'am."

-o-0-o-

Atlantis, Athinios City  
Santorini, Greece  
Monday, May 25, 1998  
8:12 am

Her fingers curled around the handle of a mug of steaming Turkish coffee, Scully leaned against the door frame of the entrance into the study. Her partner was deep in concentration, pacing back and forth in front of the full bank of windows behind the desk. There, he had affixed the Mylar sheets bearing their fingerprint transfers from the shop. In his left hand was the card with the deceased's prints, in his right, an over-sized hand lens. With an exclamation, he brought the magnifier and page to his face. His nose was now so close to the curved glass as he worked that she could convince herself she could see his breath condensing on both it and his round reading glasses. She smiled to herself when she realized he had failed to notice her presence.

"Hard at work, Mycroft?"

Without turning, but with a pronounced depression appearing under his rib-cage, he grunted. "You saying I need to lay off the souvlaki, Sherlock?"

After resting the china on a note pad, she joined him. "Any luck?"

He placed the hand lens and sheet on the desk. "Not really. I thought I'd found a match on the doorknob, but it was pretty smudged." He leaned into her face. "I'm not used to doing comparisons on *normal* length fingerprints."

One corner of her mouth twitched. "But, as I remember, you found the prints on the gas cap that sealed the Propps case. Been dodging it ever since, I see."

After tossing her a lopsided grin, he stepped back to the window. "Haven't needed to. Greys don't have finger whorls." He rubbed the bridge of his nose under his glasses for a moment. "One of their many attractions."

Lifting the ID sheet off the desk, she fixed her gaze on the transfer of the left index finger. "And I haven't done this since my Quantico days, before I met you, Mulder. Flukemen don't have fingerprints either." She offered the tease with a toss of her head.

He shook his head. "And here I thought all Edgar's children did fingerprints." He gazed longingly at the scanner resting on a wheeled cart by the desk.

"Not enough resolution on that old thing, Mulder."

Shaking his head, he stepped into the doorway. "I'll get your glasses. You'll need them."

-o-0-o-

When he returned, she was leaning against the desk, sipping the last of her coffee.

He smirked. "What, give up already?"

She pointed to one of the sheets on the second row. "No, I found a match on the exhaust flue." She touched her bandages. "I remembered that I reached up to grasp the outlet after I contacted it." She waggled the sheet. "I think the decedent was left-handed. There is a positive match for the left index finger on the pipe."

He shrugged. "I had started with the rear door, since if anyone was looking for evidence, that's where they were likely to end up." He rested a palm on her shoulder. "So, we know he was there."

Scully tapped her teeth with the corner of the sheet. "And the prints are right up by the wall. So, between the possible match on the doorknob and the match on the pipe, we can conclude that he was, what, being chased away from the building?"

He nodded. "What if..."

She stopped to watch him.

He was pacing now. "What if our victim was exclusively interested in the tour guide and her family, not in that woman?"

She tucked her hair behind her ear. "I think you're right, Mulder. I think there's more to our tour guide than meets the eye. I think she knew who that woman and her father were, and she's been lying to us." She crossed her arms. "I wish we had heard something back from Vicky about the woman, so we can lay that angle to rest. I know Byers wants to keep her safe, but she may have part of the answer and not realize it."

Mulder crossed back to the desk. "Let me send the Gunmen another encrypted E-mail. If they can dribble us out a few photos, we can work on making connections out here ourselves." As he prepared the message, he realized his partner was hovering behind him. After a few sentences, he could stand it no longer, so swiveled the chair to face her. "Scully?"

She held up both hands. "Sorry. Didn't mean to rattle you. Let me know when you're finished."

He crossed his arms. "What?"

She settled on the divan. "Don't worry." Both cheeks creased. "It's a good thing."

He cocked his head. "Good things should never wait, Doctor." He leaned over, punched a few buttons, then straightened. "There. It's away. Now, what's *good* that's bothering you?"

With uncharacteristic hesitancy, Scully approached the desk. She alternated between studying her feet and his upturned face.

He leaned toward her. "Scully?"

She held out her hands, dropped them to her sides, then, resolved, looked up. "Mulder, you know I'm not an openly affectionate person, but..." She reached out for him. "Please, stand up."

His eyebrows having long settled in a knot, he rose without further comment. His partner's actions had him unleashing a soft 'oh' in surprise. She had her fingers on his waist as she was uneasily pressing her cheek against his chest.

"I'm sorry." The offered words were barely above a whisper.

He circled her shoulders with his right arm, then tucked her auburn crown under his chin with his left hand. "No, don't."

Her hold on him tightened. "I'm sorry for having put you through the last few weeks. I belong working on the X-Files. I've known that for quite some time now. I was just so tired."

"Oh, Scully." He began running his hand down the back of her head, over and over. "Of course you were tired. Of course you were." He lowered his face to whisper into her hair. "That you're staying is the best thing for all of us, but, if you'd left, well, I'd never have regretted a day we worked together. Not a day."

She rested against him carefully. "Neither have I, Mulder, neither have I."

Releasing a sigh, he closed both arms around her shoulders, simply enjoying the moment, taking no thought for the future.

A beep from the computer elicited a grunt from her. "What? That can't be the Gunmen, unless the message bounced." They separated.

He bent over the keyboard. "No, it's a new E-mail." Frowning, he clicked the mouse. "No subject." He opened the message.

The body of the communication sent them both into a frenzy of activity, Scully typing frantically, Mulder bounding down the hall.

Four words blinked on the screen. "I know your plans."

-o-0-o-

Caroline and Scully were huddled over the keyboard while Mulder paced. Max had the receiver on his ear. "Yuseph!" The greeting was nearly a whoop. "Listen, we have a problem here. Someone is sending us threatening E-mails and it looks as if they're coming from inside Israel. Here, I'm handing the phone to Dana."

She tucked her hair behind her ear as she took it. "Agent Hiram, our traceback routine listed the following likely URLs." She read off several strings of numbers. "How did we get this so fast?" She flashed a smile at Caroline while she repeated the question. "Some very magic fingers and a little bit of foreign assistance." Although the Mossad Agent had been abundantly helpful while they were tracking down Sarah Silverberg, she knew the Israeli agency's reputation for secrecy was well-deserved. She refused to divulge Mulder's contact, Danny, to anyone outside their close-knit circle. "Where?" Her eyebrows drew together. "That'd be fascinating, but there's too much to do here." She handed the phone back to Max.

The white haired man nodded as he thanked the agent on the other end. "I don't need to tell you that this may have international ramifications." After he replaced the receiver, he turned to the others in the room. "I think we could all use a good meal and a little rest right now."

After she took off her reading glasses, Caroline rubbed her eyes. "And I know just the place, children." She and Max exchanged a glance. "So, if you two would like to get cleaned up, we can be on our way."

Mulder bent over his partner as they moved down the hall to their rooms. "What?"

She smirked up at him. "Agent Hiram wanted to take me on a private tour of the excavations under the Temple Mount."

He grasped her shoulder. "No easy access to the Holy of Holies to be gained, so I see."

Suddenly serious, she pulled herself erect. "Nor should there be."

-o-0-o-

Law Offices  
San Diego, California  
Monday, May 25, 1998  
9:13 am

As yet another well-dressed law clerk exited the office across from her, Sandra fidgeted in the plush chair. The woman averted her eyes when Sandra pointedly checked her watch. The chestnut-haired professor was very nearly out of time for this interview, but most certainly out of patience. She turned to the receptionist, who had offered her coffee twice in the past half an hour, then, just when she was about to rise, the door opened.

A grey-haired man stepped into the hall. "Doctor Miller?"

Sandra rose. "Yes?"

He waved a tweed-clad arm towards the dim interior of his office. "I'm ready for you now."

Sandra bit back a snide remark, then stepped through. The interior was as tastefully, and expensively, furnished as the hallway, so the seat she found her way to was nearly identical to the one she had just vacated.

The lawyer settled behind his desk. "We haven't been formally introduced, Doctor Miller, so allow me." He rose, leaned over the zebrawood expanse, then extended his hand. "I'm Charles William Whittington, the Third, and I'll be handling Detective Donato's case for the Department."

Sandra made a point of gripping the fingers with the precisely manicured nails firmly, but not too hard. "I know who you are. I've had the chance to read your door." She glared at him.

He pointed to the man in the corner. "This is my associate, Mister Toloso. He'll be acting as my recorder today."

She nodded to the younger man, who was abnormally rigid as he balanced a silver laptop on his knees. "We've already met."

After a nod in response, the brown-haired lawyer rested his fingers on the undersized keyboard, then waited.

Whittington just smiled as he opened a folder.

Sandra leaned forward. "Excuse me, but, how does the San Diego Police Department retain a lawyer like yourself? I don't quite see your fees as fitting into a municipal budget."

He cocked a grey eyebrow. "Perhaps not, Doctor Miller, but have you ever heard of pro bono work?" He turned another page.

Still not convinced, but stymied as to finding another opening, she leaned against the padded leather back of her chair. "There is the matter of his bail. How do the police usually handle this? Is there a fund set up?"

A snort. "For an officer accused of killing a fellow policeman?" He glared at her. "My dear, I'll arrange this through the bail bondsman I usually use."

She bristled at his pejorative use of an affectionate salutation, but kept silent. This was, she knew, Jerry Donato's best chance to escape a death sentence.

"Very well." Whittington lifted his reading glasses out of his pocket to set them far down on his nose. "So, how long have you known the defendant?"

Sandra crossed her arms. "He hasn't been charged with anything yet."

Another flexing of his jaw. "Of course not. My mistake. Just practicing for the court. How long have you known Detective Donato?"

She narrowed her eyes. "He didn't do anything. I've long since learned to trust my instincts, and they tell me that Jerry Donato is being framed for something." She bounded to her feet to begin pacing. "For all I know, you may be in on it, Sir." She propped both hands on the desk to bend over it. "Are you?"

The grey-haired lawyer took off his glasses. "Professor Miller. I'm not certain we'll be able to accomplish anything here today if you continue with this incomprehensible paranoid behavior. Are you aware that you are Detective Donato's sole character reference outside of his immediate superior, Sergeant Martin Johnson?"

Her mouth agape, she stepped away from the desk.

Whittington placed his glasses back on his nose. "I thought not. Now, shall we begin again?"

She found her way back to her seat.

Whittington removed the cap from his Waterman, set the nub against the letterhead, then asked a different question. "How long have you known Detective Jerry Donato?"

She sighed. "Since the twenty-ninth of last month."

Whittington cocked an eyebrow, but continued to scratch notes on the paper. "And what was the occasion of your meeting?"

She clasped her hands in her lap. "He was one of two detectives sent to investigate the death of my friend and colleague, Doctor Thomas Wilton."

Whittington's fountain pen and Toloso's key clicks making soft witnesses to the interrogation, they continued until the entirety of the Wilton investigation had been documented. Finally, he leaned back. "Is there anything you would like to add to this statement, Doctor Miller?"

She nodded. "I'll say this in court, too, if it would help."

He waved for her to continue.

She fidgeted again. "Jerry Donato put in hours of his own time, and placed himself at considerable personal jeopardy, to find Tom's killer. He was diligent, helpful, and unfailingly professional throughout the ordeal. I can honestly say that if he had investigated Tom's death with anything less than the utmost of his abilities, I couldn't see it. I'm certain Tom's wife, Professor Judy Seymour-Wilton, will corroborate my view of Jerry's fine police work."

Whittington looked over his glasses at her. "And, her address and phone would be?"

Sandra rattled them off by memory.

After concluding his notes, the grey-haired attorney capped his indigo-bodied pen. "Very well. Thank you for your time, Doctor Miller. I'll have Mister Toloso contact Doctor Seymour-Wilton this afternoon." He rose to walk her to the outer door, where he turned to extend his hand. "We'll contact you if we need anything further from you."

She clasped his fingers carefully, then stepped out into the sun.

-o-0-o-

Atlantis, Athinios City  
Santorini, Greece  
Tuesday, May 26, 1998  
5:43 am

"Mulder?" Max bent over the sleeping form of his stepson. "Mulder, wake up."

The dark-haired agent blinked up blearily. "What? What is it?" The words escaped as a croak. "Have the Gunmen found something?"

"You've had a call, Mulder." The white-haired man grasped his shoulder. "Your agent, Nichols. There's been some news about your sister."

Rubbing his face, Mulder staggered to his feet. "Oh? How's Mom taking it?"

"Just fine, dear, considering it doesn't affect her directly." Caroline was waiting in the hallway with Scully, who was still tying her terry cloth robe around herself. "He says it has something to do with Jerry Donato, the detective who was working on the murder case with her. It seems he's under arrest for the murder of his partner."

The agents exchanged surprised glances, then the pathologist asked the question on both their minds. "But, you don't have any more of the details?"

Caroline shook her head. "I wanted to make certain you heard them properly, rather than my attempting to write everything down." She waved them towards the study.

Mulder was tapping in the Nichols's cell number from memory. He waited through two rings, then offered a quick hello.

Scully was pacing in front of the desk.

The tall agent gripped the phone. "So, why are they charging him? And why is the Bureau being called in for an investigation that ought better to be handled by San Diego's Internal Affairs Division?"

The auburn-haired pathologist stopped to lean against the desk.

"Oh, I see." Mulder bit his lower lip. After a long silence, he terminated the conversation. "Keep me informed, Nichols, and, good luck with the investigation."

Scully crossed her arms. "Well?"

Mulder continued to worry his lower lip between his teeth before he answered. "I feel this little case here on Santorini isn't just a simple murder, Scully. This Detective Evans had invested in several deluxe rental apartments here on the island."

She cocked her head. "Where did a beat cop like Evans get the money to invest in overseas properties?"

He raised both eyebrows. "It also seems these properties turn in huge profits, even though they regularly run half-occupied."

Scully settled on the divan. "That's odd, in and of itself. Generally Triple A places like that are booked up months in advance."

Snatching up one of the pencils Caroline had left in a turtle-shaped ceramic holder, Mulder began idly tossing it in the air, then catching it. "You and I both know that. But, Detective Evans had built himself up a nice little nest egg for his retirement, which was less than a year away. Also, he had a couple of life insurance policies, on which there was a single beneficiary, one Jerry Donato, whom Evans referred to as the best friend he had on the force."

Scully was on her feet, phone in hand. "That must be the connection to our corpse. We know the deceased's fingerprints match those taken at the shop. He must be San Diego PD Internal Affairs, which would explain why he had no real identity."

After propping both running-shoe-encased feet on the engraved edge of the desk, Mulder rubbed his chin. "Perhaps, Scully. But, it doesn't explain why he was following that woman and her father." He returned to toss and catch with the pencil.

Snatching the yellow-coated cedar in mid-air, the auburn-haired pathologist used the eraser end to punch in the Gunman's number. "Hey, Langly." She broke into a genuine smile at the delight in the blond man's surprised greeting. "Turn your encryption software for your machine on. We need to communicate incognito." As she moved around to the keyboard, she ruminated to her partner. "Unless they were in on the real estate scheme." She shoved both long leather-clad feet onto the floor, then motioned for him to give her the chair.

He patted his knee, then smirked.

She rolled her eyes, then bent over the keyboard.

Suddenly serious, he touched her arm. "And, it still doesn't explain why he tried to grab the kid, or why he attacked you." Standing, he rolled the oak desk chair behind her.

She accepted the seat with a nod. "No, it doesn't. But, if it did, our work here would be finished, wouldn't you say?"

He gripped the high oak back to watch her while she brought up the encryption program.

-o-0-o-

Visiting Room  
San Diego Police Headquarters  
San Diego, California  
Monday, May 25, 1998  
11:27 am

Sandra paced on the visitor's side of the space, watching as the locked and barred door swung open.

An unshaven Jerry Donato in an orange prison jump suit staggered through, then reached for the phone on his side of the window.

Sandra had the receiver on her ear before she sat down. "Jerry, when you said you'd call, I didn't think it would be your *one* call. What's going on here?"

Jerry rubbed the back of his neck. "I have no idea, Sandra. I was called away to investigate a homeless death, then called directly back to headquarters. I just needed someone outside the force who could think straight. I thought of you." He glanced back at the guard. "Sorry to put you through this."

She shook her head. "No, no, that's all right. You went above and beyond for Tom; this is only fair." She pressed her hand into the glass. "I know you didn't kill him."

Jerry placed his palm over the impression of hers. "Thanks. These guys aren't so sure. I can't even understand why I'm a suspect. The paramedics were on the scene when I arrived."

"Hands off the window." The guard's bark was leavened with his oozing boredom.

Setting her arm in her lap, Sandra leaned toward the clear barrier. "They think you slipped him a slow-acting poison." They both laughed helplessly at the absurdity of the thought, then she shook her head. "I know, it sounds like Hollywood. I've taken a phone call from the FBI, Jerry, from an ASAC Nichols. You know him?"

A sigh. "I've worked with the Bureau on several cases, but I don't remember him. He must be new here."

She nodded. "That's what he said. He's interested in those overseas properties Evans owned."

Jerry scratched his blackened chin. "That's so weird. He lived in a dump, drove a clunker Ford. And he left them to me? Then yelled at me that I was stealing them from him?"

Sandra leaned against the broken plastic back. "I think either you were or Evans was being set up for something."

He nodded. "That's one of your leaps I think I can agree with. But why? I haven't worked on any high-profile cases or anything that involves organized crime, or large sums of money. Just homicides."

"I know." Sandra bent close to the glass again. "Look, I'll be at the arraignment tomorrow. I've talked to your lawyer and we've put together what we think will cover your bail. I can't believe they'd demand you stay in there any longer than is absolutely necessary."

Jerry's shoulders sagged. "Thanks." After a quick glance over his shoulder, he rested his hand on the window. "I owe you, Sandie."

-o-0-o-

San Diego Municipal Courthouse  
San Diego, California  
Tuesday, May 26, 1998  
9:57 am

Sandra paced outside the double doors. She was waiting, she knew, but she wasn't certain for what. Since the arraignment was about to begin, Jerry would be looking for her when he was brought out. But, she had long ago learned to listen to her instincts, so here she stayed.

Something brought her attention to the outer glass doors. A short, balding man with a blond mustache, almost gone fully grey, had just pushed through them.

He exchanged a glance with the guard, then called out a gravelly 'Hello.' Sandra found the voice oddly familiar. As she struggled to place him, his faded blue eyes swept the lobby until his gaze landed on her.

Aware that he somehow seemed to know her, Sandra shifted uncomfortably as he dug in his jacket pocket for something. Her hazel eyes flicked toward the guard, but the Hispanic man had made no move to intercept the new arrival, merely pushing the doors shut to keep the cool air in, then resuming his seat.

His gait something between a swagger and a limp as he approached her, the older man beamed broadly at Sandra. "Doctor Miller?"

Her eyes narrowed. There had been a catch as he had spoken her name, leading her to conclude he had to stop himself from calling her something else. She crossed her arms. "Who wants to know?"

He was holding up a leather ID folder. "Assistant Special Agent in Charge Phillip Alexander Nichols, FBI. I just got off a flight from DC, or I would have been here sooner. They're about to start. We'd better go in."

After a sidelong glance at the unexpected apology, Sandra led him to the front row behind the defendant's bench, where a lean African-American was already seated. They exchanged quick nods, then the FBI agent introduced himself to Sergeant Johnson. But her attention was elsewhere, since the side door had opened. She wanted to concentrate on sending the thick-chested detective support with her eyes.

Jerry Donato, now dressed in the suit and tie Johnson had brought him, smiled wanly at the three people behind the carved rail. His gaze landed quizzically on the blond man, then Sandra's mouthed, 'It's okay,' had him turning back to take a seat.

She was surprised at the strength of the urge she felt to reach across the barrier to pat his shoulder, but the bailiff was announcing the judge's arrival, so, once again, her attention turned elsewhere. There would be time to speak after the proceedings.

-o-0-o-

Sandra smiled at Donato, who had stepped through the gate to join them. "It'll be okay, Jerry," she soothed with a quick grip of his arm.

After rubbing her fingers, which were still resting on his wrist, the detective freed his hand to extend to the older man. "You have me at a disadvantage, Sir."

A firm clasp. "Phillip Nichols, ASAC here at the local FBI office. I need to speak with all of you regarding this." He waved his arm at their surroundings. "Outside."

Jerry looked to his lawyer, who had just finished collecting his papers, then joined them. "But this is a courtroom, surely-"

Nichols shook his head firmly. "After what I've seen, I can't assume anywhere inside is safe." He led the way to the doors.

Sandra nodded, then hurried to catch up with the older man. "Do you know anything about those agents who have been parked on my street for the past few weeks?"

The agent glanced over at her, then, after a silent moment while he chewed his mustache, pointed to the glass entrance. Once they were assembled in the grass, he nodded. "You *are* direct, I have to give you that. Those are my agents, Doctor Miller, and they're watching you."

Sandra caught the slight hitch on her name, but before she could respond, Jerry was protesting, "What? But the murder of Tom Wilton is all but solved, and Sandra was never even a suspect!"

Nichols shook his head. "The surveillance has nothing to do with the Wilton murder, and everything to do with your forgotten childhood, Doctor Miller."

Now Sandra had her hands on her hips. "How do you know? Have you been bugging my home?"

A rueful smile stretching his lips, Nichols sighed. "No, Doctor Miller. The Bureau doesn't do that, at least not anymore, and certainly not without a warrant. Let's just say I know someone who's been looking for you most of his life."

Jerry laid what he hoped was a calming hand on Sandra's shoulder. "Who is this person?"

Nichols glanced around the crowd as if he were searching for lurkers. "One of Doctor Miller's biological family members. He's in the Bureau, but his position and the types of cases he investigates put anyone with a personal connection to him as risk."

Now the thick-chested detective moved in front of Sandra, a protective gesture he was relieved she didn't protest. "What are these cases? Organized Crime? Drugs?"

The balding Montanan shrugged. "You could say that."

Her dark eyebrows set in a knot, Sandra stepped forward. "Well, which is it?"

Nichols simply shook his head.

She crossed her arms. "So, when can I meet this 'family member'? And what does it have to do with Jerry?"

Nichols leaned toward her. "He's on assignment overseas at the moment." He pointed to the thick-chested detective. "As for a connection to the Evans murder, that's why I'm involved."

Donato's attorney stepped into the agent's face. "If you know something that pertains to this case, I need to hear it, and now." He was pulled back by Johnson.

But, undeterred, Nichols faced Jerry. "Did you know that Evans had property overseas?"

Donato glanced at Whittington. "I found out after he had died, yes. But I can't understand how he could afford it. He earned even less than I do, and I can barely cover the place I have now."

Nichols chewed his mustache for a moment. "Then, what say we put our bright little brains together and figure this out, all right?" He looked around, noting the several heads nodding agreement.

-o-0-o-

FBI San Diego Regional Office  
San Diego, California  
Tuesday, May 26, 1998  
12:37 pm

Nichols waved them all into a large, bright office at the far end of the hall. "Sorry. I can't resist. When I've had an office in the Bureau before, it was always a sardine-can cubicle." He grinned. "My former partner tells me I'm quite a show-off about all this."

Jerry stuck his hands in his pockets as he took in the orange, blue, and white decor of the room. "I take it no one mentions that there's another AFC team here in the city?"

Nichols guided him to a chair. "There is? Really? Ros? Why didn't you tell me about that?"

A tall brunette, who had been sprawled on one of the leather chairs facing the desk, rose to extend her hand to Sandra. "Ignore him. He misses working undercover." She tossed her head. "He pretends he doesn't, but he does. I'm Doctor Andrea Rosen, formerly at the FBI, now at Scripps Oceanographic Institute."

Sandra shook her palm gingerly. "How does a criminologist get a job at Scripps?"

Rosen and Nichols exchanged knowing smirks before she replied. "Only if you consider the Big Bang arson, would it be possible." She leaned against Nichols' desk. "My doctorate's in Radio Astronomy."

Jerry and his African-American superior stared at her. Johnson shook his head. "What does the Bureau need astronomers for?"

Nichols laughed out loud from behind his desk. "Oh, in our line of work, they're almost essential, though the pencil-necks took a bit of convincing."

Rosen took a seat by Sandra. "I was hired by your..." She cast a glance at Nichols, who waved her on. "...biological relative to work with him."

Jerry tipped his head. "Oh, so it's a he, is it? Who? Father, brother, uncle?"

Rosen sighed. "I'd like to tell you, but we can't be certain that it would be in confidence, even here."

Sandra crossed her arms. "Well, where *can* you tell me? All this whispering and skulking in corners is making me insane. Why not tell me the truth?"

Rosen and Nichols exchanged another glance, then the brunette laughed. "They're related, all right. She's as impatient as he is."

Sandra was on her feet, prowling the room. Finally, she stopped in front of a rearing orange stallion, positioning herself so that it appeared ready to leap over her head.

Nichols stood by Rosen. "All these mannerisms, Ros. Who'd have thought it? Two minutes after she's in the office, she's a dead ringer for him!"

Sandra was eying Rosen carefully. "Did you say *Andrea* Rosen?"

Sobering, the brunette nodded. "Yes. Why?"

Sandra advanced on her. "I thought I recognized you! Yours was the welcoming reception I was to attend the night Tom was killed."

Rosen's grin dropped into a frown of sympathy. "Yes, I heard about that. I'm sorry. I know the two of you were close. But, missing the reception was a good thing. You know how boring these faculty parties can be."

Sandra nodded. "Yes, everyone bragging about their research, even though they haven't done half the work. If you push them for details, you can always tell which ones leech entirely off their post-docs."

Rosen was beside her again. "You've noticed that, too? It makes me nuts, sometimes."

Sandra nodded. "*All* the time." She pointed at Jerry. "But, we're here to talk about him, not me."

Nichols smiled. "You're right. And we'll be seeing a good deal more of each other in the future, if all goes well." He carried a folder from his desk to the chairs where the two women had rejoined Donato and Johnson.

Jerry checked over the contents. "I still don't see how this connects to Evans' death. Are you saying these were the properties he had part ownership of?" He turned to Whittington. "Does any of this make sense to you?"

The grey-haired attorney studied the pages.

Sandra thought he had blanched at one of the documents, a thick packet with a blue and white striped cover. She made a note to check that one over carefully as soon as she had a moment alone with the papers.

"No. None of these make any sense to me either." He closed the legal-wide manila folder. "However, if I could take them back to the firm and have my associates do some work with them - What?"

Nichols had lifted the information from his hands. "No can do. These are official FBI papers. I've only shown them to you for purposes of identification in an on-going investigation. If your people want to give them a once-over, that's fine. But, they have to stay in this building."

Whittington was on his feet. "If you don't want to cooperate in my client's defense, then why did you show them to us?"

Nichols crossed his arms, tucking the papers carefully away. "As I said, to help us in an on-going investigation."

Jerry rose. "Hey, I'm the one who's up on murder charges! While you two posture for each other's benefits, it's my neck in the noose."

"Posture!" Whittington leaned into his client's face. "If you think that's what I'm doing, then you can find yourself another lawyer. Preferably, one who can be cowed by these scare tactics!" He stormed to the exit. "Gentlemen, when you are ready, I'll be waiting downstairs." The oak slammed impressively behind him.

Donato was after him, but Sandra reached the entranceway first. "Jerry, I don't trust him. He saw something in those papers that bothered him and I need to know what it was."

Nichols nodded. "As did I. It was exactly what I expected would set him off, too." He waited until they were both seated again. "You see, his firm is under investigation for real estate fraud, both here and overseas, and somehow, Evans is mixed up in all this, which is why we suspect he was so eager to take your case, Detective Donato. I suggest you get yourself a new lawyer."

"Let me see." Jerry extended both hands.

Nichols placed the pages in them, then crossed his arms while he watched the thick-chested man read.

When he had finished, he turned to his Sergeant. "What do you know about this?"

Johnson shrugged. "Just what you do. Let me see those pages."

Nichols stepped to the doorway. "I'll see about ordering us some lunch. I think we'll be here for most of the afternoon."

-o-0-o-

Atlantis, Athinios City  
Santorini, Greece  
Tuesday, May 26, 1998  
9:53 pm

Max arched a white brow at the silence from across the room. His stepson had dropped his head on the edge of the sofa. Since the partners had begun this investigation, Mulder seemed more focused than Max remembered him being during their inquir

55

ies about Samantha. But, the younger man still wore down far too easily, so, he crossed the carpet to rest a hand on a thin shoulder. "Mulder, you should go to bed."

The agent fidgeted himself into erectness. "No, Scully's still up." He turned as he heard a sound from the front lawn.

Max glared over at the door. "Now, who would that be at this late hour?"

Mulder frowned, attempting to peer through the darkness. "I don't know." He pushed himself to his feet. "But I'll go find out." When he reached the entrance, he pulled the barrier away eagerly. "Byers! What brings you out here?"

The bearded Gunman leaned in. "Oh, information. Good evening, Mister Lowenberg. Mrs. Lowenberg is well, I trust?" He smiled uneasily.

Caroline stepped out of the study. "Mrs. Lowenberg is fit as a fiddle, thank you, kind Sir." She bowed her head.

Laden down with two laptop cases and a portable scope, Langly staggered in next. "Mrs. L! Mister L! Good to see you again."

Max and Caroline exchanged a glance, then the white-haired man peered over his head. "And your third is?"

Frohike, his hair slicked back, materialized in the light of the hall. He extended the potted red tulip he had been carrying toward Caroline. "Mrs. Lowenberg! This is in gratitude for your past hospitality, and in fond anticipation of your present welcome." He set his lips in his widest smile.

She beamed. "My! I haven't seen one of these since, well..." She looked to her husband again, part delight, part concern, written on her features.

Max was beside her. "When it's finished, Line-chen, we'll give it a rest in the refrigerator for next season. Thank you."

But the round-faced Gunman was already looking around the front room in dismay. "Where is she, Mulder? She hasn't gone back to the States, has she?"

Mulder pointed to the back porch. "She tracking the heavens with Max's telescope. Betelgeuse set a few minutes ago, so I came back in here to get some work done." He walked beside Frohike through the house. "She's decided, Fro, she's staying."

The tiny man practically danced a gigue in his delight. "Then this is as wonderful a day as we had hoped for."

Langly was weaving down the hall, Byers attempting to lift some of his burdens away. "I'll need to borrow some space in your study, Mister L., if that's okay."

Max shook his head. "Not a problem." He bent over his wife. "As if we had a choice with these three, Mrs. L."

She swatted gently at his elbow. "Mrs. L. indeed. I shall have to see to the linen, now, I suppose."

The white mustache twitched. "Oh, knowing them it won't be necessary until the sun is high in the sky, Mrs. L."

"Max!" Caroline scolded from the depths of the hall closet. "I am *not* Mrs. L."

He patted her gently on the derrière, eliciting a subdued squeak from the normally serene woman. "Of course you are, Line-chen. Now, pass me those pillows."

-o-0-o-

Mulder glanced downward at Frohike's hesitation by the glass door. "Fro? What's up?"

A sigh emanated from the little man. "Nothing, just..." He pushed his way out to step onto the slate deck, Mulder right behind him. The Gunman paused, taking a few moments to study the auburn-haired agent. "She looks good, G-man." He waved one hand. "Not that she doesn't always just take my breath away. But now, look at her. She's rested, fit. She was so gaunt when we left you both here."

Mulder nodded. "I know. She needed the time off, more than I think either of us realized."

From her stoop over the view lens of the telescope, Scully spoke without looking up. "You two don't need to whisper. I can hear everything you're saying from over here."

Frohike swaggered over to her. "It's nothing I wouldn't say to your face, Most Wise One." He dug around in his jacket pocket, then produced two creased cream-colored envelopes, one of which he held out to her. "I brought you this from DC." The other he gave to Mulder. "It's down to two competitors, now, G-man."

Mulder frowned at the front of the envelope, where his name was printed in large calligraphic letters. Before he could open it, his partner let out a short laugh.

"Good. That will be lovely." She rested the invitation on the table with her reference maps. Then, she startled both men by clasping, however briefly, the Gunman's palm, which was encased in those fingerless knit gloves he seemed to wear perpetually. "Thank you, Frohike. The kindness is appreciated."

The little man merely blinked in astonishment.

Mulder stepped over to his partner, grasping her back as he bent over her. "Scully?"

She tossed her hair. "Pendrell and Phillips will be married in the courtyard at the Hoover Building. I think that's appropriate." She rubbed her bare arms as she looked over at Frohike. "So, why are you here? Or can't you say?"

Totally off-guard, Frohike could manage only to shake his head. "We have some data for you."

After collecting the books and the invitation, Scully led them both back toward the house. "Then let's go have a look, shall we?"

Mulder began to follow her, then tapped the Gunman on the nose so he wouldn't find himself standing alone under the night sky.

-o-0-o-

Byers grinned when the three entered the study. "Just in time!" He waved to the carpet. "Have a seat."

Langly popped up from under the desk. "Hey, Fro looks like he's seen a ghost." When there was no response, he swiveled the computer's monitor so they could all see it. When the three were seated, Frohike on the divan behind Mulder and Scully side by side on the carpet, the long-haired Gunman tapped the long Enter key.

Before Langly could speak, however, Mulder held up his hand. "What did you get from the Hoover Building?"

The three exchanged worried glances, then the blond Gunman reached into one of his equipment bags. "Let's make certain we can discuss this in private." He handed black sensor units to Frohike, Byers, and Scully.

She frowned down at the winking display after punching a green ON button. "If I were my partner, I'd ask if this is the latest version of the cone of silence."

"What?" Mulder's shout was gleeful.

She glared at him for a moment before she began sweeping the wall behind the desk, as the three Gunmen worked the bookshelves. "I can't find anything. Do you guys have any shielding we can put over the window?"

"What?" Four male voices chorused.

"We are *so* dead." Langly issued his pronouncement amid snickers from the rest. "Yes, we do." He reached into a different bag, where he had stored cardboard sheets covered with aluminum foil. "These work just as well, and aren't so tough to carry."

Mulder waited until the glass was covered. "So?"

Byers was handing several thick envelopes to Scully. "Tell us what you think, Agent."

She held each Mylar sheet up against the light. "I see."

"What?" All humor gone, Mulder was standing behind her now.

She sighed. "Remember those modifications to Saunders' genetic sequence that we thought were faked?"

He nodded. "The ones that were purportedly introduced at his trial?"

She pointed to a line on the trace. "They're here, too. It seems that either we have someone tampering with DNA inside the Bureau, or - "

Byers held up a different sheet. "The genetic modifications were used as a tracer for Consortium employees. Look at this, Mulder."

The dark-haired man read the name. "Duane Barry." He turned to his partner. "This is from the tissues we have stored, isn't it?"

She had positioned the DNA traces on a yellow storage envelope to cross her arms. "Yes. There were samples with the Gunmen. Maybe Barry was more than an abductee."

Frohike nodded. "That's likely, Divinity. I don't know what the Greek officials have found in the body, but I wouldn't be surprised if they didn't find something like what was found in Barry." He pointed to smudge on an X-ray.

Mulder turned. "That's Barry's, too?"

Byers shook his head. "No. That's from your decedent, Benner, which appears to have been his real name."

Langly pushed his glasses back up his nose. "Maybe they were using implants to track all their employees, not just their test subjects."

"It wouldn't be beyond them." Scully's fingers had unconsciously tracked to the small scar at the back of her neck. "They had DNA records of all their employees and their families in that silo in Africa."

Mulder eyed each of the three Gunmen in turn. "Which is why we need to run the guy who attacked Scully to ground. He may be another link into their organization."

After waving the agents back to the couch, Frohike reached for the mouse, wiggling it to deactivate the screen saver. An image of the woman they had seen appeared. "This may help you there. You had asked us to check into the lady and the kid you met at Akrotiri. Well, we did."

Byers leaned over to click the left mouse button, sliding a State Department ID badge beside the original. "This is she, Gloria Stuart."

Mulder snorted. "And the kid's actually a midget agent undercover, right?"

Byers eyed the tall man, who had sprawled his legs out in front of him until his knee touched his partner's. "Noo, Mulder." He sighed. "He's her son, Richard Jeremy Stuart." Another tap, the two images disappeared, then one of an older man took their place. "We suspect this was the 'father' your witness saw them with."

Scully shook her head. "We have reason to wonder about the veracity of her testimony, but go on."

A driver's license slid into view. "He's James Andrews, her father-in-law."

"Ex-father-in-law." Langly shook his head. "And, he's the one with the connections to Evans. It seems Andrews and Evans were co-owners of the Caldera Suites." He hit the enter key. "That's these apartments up the road a mile or so." An image of a group of low white buildings, around an open square, appeared on the screen. "But Andrews' main business was antiquities, or the purchasing and sales thereof." A business card now filled the screen. "We can't get a list of his customers, *yet*." Here, he eyed the round-faced Gunman, who had been silent on the divan. "Hey, Dragon Boy! Your turn."

Frohike rubbed his eyes under his glasses. "But his credit card shows his air miles were used equally to fly to the Med and to the East, Japan, in specific. So, we can deduce that he was probably selling to collectors there." He hopped off the sofa to take the mouse away from Langly. "His most recent catalog offered the following item for sale."

A new image slid into view, one that had Scully on her feet. "A faience statuette of the Minoan Snake Goddess!"

Mulder was beside her in an instant. "Ah. So you meet again, Doctor."

She smiled up at him. "We do."

The Gunmen exchanged confused glances before Frohike coughed. "But, the only known figurines are in museums, and they haven't been reported stolen. So, we can only conclude that this is a fraud." He tapped the mouse twice. "We suspect that it is, if you compare this one with known originals."

Scully bent down to peer at the first image. "Oh, you mean the placement of the snakes?"

Frohike flushed bright red. "Yes, that's what we mean, Agent Scully."

Byers cleared his throat nervously. "We were thinking someone believed they could mix together images of the Death of Cleopatra with this Snake Goddess and set the art world in an uproar."

Mulder bent over her. "What? Eew, I see." One of the serpents was latched onto the goddess' nipple.

Scully was shaking her head. "No, that may not make it a fraud."

Mulder's face scrunched up. "What? Scully, are you serious?"

Looking up at him, she nodded. "It was common, even into Christian times, to portray Mother Earth as nurturing the creatures of the field in just such a manner. Customarily, there would be a cow on one - " She shook her head. " - side, and a snake on the other." She cocked an eyebrow at the waves of discomfort coming off the men around her. "Admittedly, it's, well, too *literal* for our sensibilities - "

"And how!" Langly's face was contracted into sour pinch.

" - But it wouldn't have been impossible to have found the ancients combining Magna Mater imagery with that of the Snake Goddess. After all, we know nothing about her." She looked up at her partner again. "Well, not really."

He crossed his arms. "As I see it, we're looking at one of two possibilities here: either our local potters are involved in art fraud, and the victim was an undercover agent checking them out, or,"

Scully tucked her hair behind her ear. "There's another cache of Minoan treasures buried by the eruption of Thera being sold slowly on the black market. It fits with where we found our victim's clothes, since Thirasia is far less densely populated than is the main part of the island."

Mulder nodded. "Either way, we have ourselves a very good motive for murder."

-o-0-o-

End - Anath - Inanna


	5. Aqhat

=====o=========================================o=====

_Anath_ by Mary Ruth Keller

Part V - _Aqhat_

=====o=========================================o=====

Atlantis, Athinios City  
Santorini, Greece  
Wednesday, May 27, 1998  
7:12 am

With a sigh, Max stepped out of his and Caroline's bedroom. While the past few months had certainly been an adventure, he found himself longing for the quiet days when it had simply been himself and his dignified white-haired wife. Then, he had been the island's eccentric, the crazy American with the big ideas, while Caroline had been serene, at peace with the misfortunes of her younger days.

He nodded to his stepson's auburn-haired partner as she left her own private space. "How long did you sleep, Dana?"

She had just caught her hair in one hand to fasten a barrette around the lengthening, still-damp curls. "Sleep? With the Gunmen here?" One corner of her mouth twitched. "I've only now had a break for a quick shower."

His gaze fell on the fresh bandages on her cheek. "How does your face feel?"

Finished adjusting the clip, she tapped her jaw gingerly. "It pulls a bit, but, it's healing well. The hormones seem to have helped in the recovery." She took a step back to look him squarely in the eye. "Do you know who is responsible for policing and protecting antiquities here on Santorini?"

Max sighed. "I'm afraid that was a rather heated topic of discussion a few days ago. Brother Petras from the Monastery was extremely concerned that nothing serious was being done. It seems the matter is left to the island's police, or what few hired guards the municipalities occasionally provide."

She crossed her arms. "Do you still have any contacts in the art world? Someone who could take a look at some artifacts to determine their authenticity?"

He chewed his white mustache for a moment . "I think I still have friends in out of the way places. What do you think you have?"

She eyed him intently, as if considering something, then turned toward the study. "Follow me."

-o-0-o-

Still feeling muzzy from the hour's nap he had caught in his room, Mulder frowned at the quiet conversations he could barely discern, let alone understand. As he walked down the hall, his partner's voice floated out. "According to Spyridon Marinatos' original excavation notes, they found niches for statuettes, which he thought were an Egyptian influence on the culture - "

He could hear Max's response. "But no statuettes. So he concluded the inhabitants had been able to evacuate before the final explosion and ash fall, but he wasn't certain to where."

Mulder turned into the study. His partner, her reading glasses perched on her nose, was frowning at what he presumed was text on the computer monitor. His stepfather had images of several of the items from Andrews's catalog spread across the desk in front of him.

Caroline looked up from her seat on the couch. "Ah, Fox, good morning." Tucking a slim paperback under her right arm, she crossed the room to hug him momentarily with the left, before she turned to Scully. "It puts me very much in mind of the recent discoveries at Herculaneum." She curled the left cover back without bending the spine, then pointed.

Scully pushed up her glasses to peruse the images. "Yes. If these are authentic, then the purported discovery location makes a good deal of sense."

"What makes sense?" Mulder eyed the three in the room in turn.

Max held up one of the print-outs. "That these were found at Exomitis Cape." He walked to the shelves to take down a small, well-thumbed, guide to Santorini. "It's the southernmost part of the island, and a launching point that would take voyagers by sea to the nearest island, Anaphi." He opened the book to the center map, then tapped the glossy paper. "We all live on the rim of what was once a circular volcanic cone, Mulder." He turned the page. "Prior to the final eruption, there were probably several smaller ones. That last was cataclysmic, though, lifting the center of the island clean off the face of the earth. Thirasia, Aspro Nisi, and the main island of Thera are all that remains from before the eruption."

Mulder nodded. He vaguely remembered parts of this from the tour at Akrotiri. "So, some of the occupants had time to leave and take their possessions with them, or - "

"Hide them in hopes of an eventual return." Scully nodded. "But, the island was buried in ash so deeply that any who did try to come back lost of hope of reclaiming their homes. The island wasn't inhabited again, on a large scale, until Hellenic times, as you know." She took off her glasses. "So, if this cache does indeed turn out to be authentic, it would be an incalculable addition to the archaeological record."

Caroline sighed. "We shouldn't, unfortunately, forget what probably is motivating all this: greed. Those same wonderful artifacts would make whoever could sell them very wealthy. Look at what happened to Schleimann's gold."

Scully cocked her head. "It might be locals here. After all, that's exactly how most of the pre-Columbian pottery ended up in museums in Mexico, because residents were grave-robbing from their ancestors."

Mulder stood by her. "So, you think the tour guide's family was working with Stuart and Andrews to smuggle these off the island?"

"Or, they're cooperating in the perpetration of a very elaborate fraud to sell fakes," Max's hazel eyes twinkled at Caroline.

She smiled back knowingly. "But, that, my dear, is why you're about to make some calls, now isn't it?"

Mulder found himself wondering at the exchange, but after the long dark years with his mother, chose not to probe, so turned to his white-haired step-father. "You know someone who could have these evaluated?"

Max walked over to clap his stepson on the shoulder. "One could say that." With another odd smirk at the dark-haired agent, he picked up the phone to tap out a series of numbers. "Eric! Sorry to call so early in the morning. It's Max Lowenberg. Hello!"

Mulder watched the older man conduct an animated conversation with his caller, but tuned out of the specifics related to pigments and clays. Scully would keep those straight in that precisely compartmented mind of hers, until the details impacted their case. He sensed the conversation winding down as Max began asking about shows and commissions, social niceties that he always seemed to bobble.

He let his attention wander, as it often did these past few weeks, to his auburn-haired partner. He found himself awash in a profound sense of relief that she had decided to remain with the X-Files. It was as he had tried to tell her, over and over; she had become essential, both professionally and personally, to their joint work. But she hadn't slept the previous night, nor had he. Despite her keen focus on the case, he knew she still needed rest to continue her healing.

He had also been secretly thrilled, when she reaffirmed, however briefly, that her life and career were so intertwined with his that she would never leave. She might one day, he constantly reminded himself, find a man who would love her in a way he knew he could not consider; he would, with some trepidation, be genuinely happy for her then. But, as his partner, they would remain united for the duration of their careers at the Bureau, thus mooting most of his concerns. In a way, it was a great relief that Samantha was whole, healthy, and self-sufficient. He understood now that for the immediate future, the focus of his attentions should remain on the red-haired woman speaking quietly with his mother.

That was, until three words slipped past his stepfather's lips to penetrate his consciousness. "How is Phoebe?" Then all certainty collapsed as shining dust into a golden heap at his feet.

-o-0-o-

Scully had been watching her partner drift mentally as Max had continued his conversation. It was, she had become aware during countless interminable meetings in Skinner's office, his way of resting without sleep. At the word 'Phoebe,' his left cheek had ticked, then his eyelids had dropped into hoods which provided little cover for the implosion she knew was occurring. She began walking around the desk to him, but stopped when Caroline's fingers landed on her arm. She glanced down into a grateful pair of hazel eyes, then smiled gently at the nod giving her permission. Scully understood that, despite the older woman's emotional paralysis during her partner's childhood, her powers of observation were the equal of those of her son.

Feeling her actions bearing the increased weight of maternal approval, the auburn-haired agent reached out to grasp her partner's wrist as he bent close. "Mulder, we need to talk."

A slight stiffening of his thin jaw, a moment's hesitation, then he allowed himself to be led down the hall into the living room. When she stopped, he exploded. "Why her? Why is he talking about *her*?" He huddled over his partner. "Are you the only one I can trust?"

She shook her head. "That's Eric Connors Max is talking to. Remember? He helped them with the art thefts while we were on the homeless virus case."

He blinked. "Oh. Right. With all the work Max has put into finding Sam, he probably - " He narrowed his eyes at her. "What?"

She was rubbing his elbow with her palm. "You weren't paying attention, were you?"

He stared uncomfortably at his feet.

"Eric has a show in San Diego in two weeks. To contact James Andrews on a business pretext would be neither inconvenient nor suspicious." She tipped her head under his down-turned face.

He grinned shakily. "Yeah, you caught me."

Her hand moved up to his shoulder. "So, what were you thinking about, Mulder?"

He raised his head to study her carefully. "What did you want to talk to me about?"

She leaned closer. "Just wanting to vet a paranoid suspicion about Doctor Ishimaru."

He broke into a full lop-sided grin. "Agent Scully, I'm grinding crystal under my heel as we speak." He dropped an arm around her shoulders. "Enlighten me, please."

She stretched up to reach his ear. "You haven't talked to Max much about what he was doing while we were roaming the streets of Baltimore, have you?"

He shook his head.

"He and Phoebe - " She held up the hand not currently pinned against his side. " - Sorry, were attempting to sell Lindhauer a fake painting. It seems our former conspirator liked breaking into art museums for a hobby."

His hazel eyes twinkled. "So, if some of the Consortium members were involved, you're wondering if their Japanese contingent has some connection to this case?" He bit his lower lip as he considered. "It would at least be a possible explanation for the attack on you, as well as why we couldn't find anything on this guy."

She nodded. "If our corpse had been law enforcement internal affairs, someone would have stepped forward, under some pretext, to attempt to claim him. That no one has tells you he's either - "

"An employee of some deeply covert organization, or with the Consortium. I'll leave some porridge for Goldilocks and the Two Bears to set them to running through Saunders' testimony, just to see what they can dig up." A quick squeeze of her shoulders, then Mulder was leaping down the hall as Scully reentered the study.

-o-0-o-

142 Curie Avenue, University City  
San Diego, California  
Tuesday, May 26, 1998  
8:12 pm

From across the oak kitchen table, Sandra studied the thick-chested detective. "Jerry, will you be all right?"

He rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah. Sure. Right now, this is a lot to process. First, I have this high-priced land shark volunteer to defend me, then the Feds step in, on *my* side, nonetheless, then we find out you have family in the Bureau. *Then*, I lose my lawyer, who for all I know, may have been only interested in covering up his own involvement with Evans. Nothing would surprise me." He sipped the cinnamon tea. "So, what next?"

She eyed him. "Jerry..."

He blinked at her. "What? You're not planning on bursting out with something, are you?"

She cocked one dark, too-heavy eyebrow. "Other than an offer to use my spare bedroom, no."

He gripped the mug with both hands. "Oh. Thanks."

She reached over to grasp his wrist. "Unless you want to go back to your own place, that is."

He shook his head. "That dump? It was my apartment in college, believe it or not. I mostly stash my clothes there, nothing more." His brown eyes canted toward the red tabby lapping water from a bowl. "But, would it disturb the Inquisitor's routine?"

Her slightly oversized lips stretched into a full, lop-sided grin. "To have two prewarmed beds to choose from? I doubt it." She drained the last of her tea. "Seriously, though, should we run you by your place to pick up a new set of those stashed clothes?"

"Nah. Johnson packed some extras in that bag of mine. He guessed, I suppose, that I might be headed elsewhere once I was released."

"Okay." She rolled the crockery between her palms. "The guest bedroom has its own bathroom. And if you have company, don't think too much of it." Her lips twitched at his slight gasp. "For some incomprehensible feline reason, Salazar loves to watch the drops run down the glass."

-o-0-o-

Jerry found himself smiling as he scrubbed under a stream of blisteringly hot water. He had suddenly realized where he was, what was about to happen. He would be spending his first night with Sandra Miller, although not exactly where he hoped to spend the rest of them. He stepped back to lather up the curls on his scalp.

As Sandra has warned him, there was a round dark form planted outside the stall, its shape distorted by the facets in the glass. He was also faintly aware of a harpsichord, Bach, he thought, coming from somewhere in the house. After the underworld of the prison, the serenity he felt here nearly made him want to weep. He reminded himself that a good night's sleep in a comfortable bed would make all the difference for his outlook. Finished with his ablutions, he turned off the water.

Pushing the door aside, he found that Salazar had planted himself squarely in the center of the bath mat to blink up at him. Donato grinned down at the marmalade eyes. "Show's over, Seignior."

"Urr." The orange tabby rose, then strolled to the bathroom door, which had somehow come unlatched while Jerry had been inside. A flick of a golden paw, them the round feline was easing his girth through the opening.

Jerry chuckled as the white tip of Salazar's tail disappeared through the dark slit. He could certainly get used to living here.

-o-0-o-

Donato sighed. He had finally convinced Sandra that he really was fine, that he didn't need extra pillows, or a blanket, or, as she had popped in to offer only a few moments earlier, a night light. She had been tentative in her suggestion, shy, almost. It had set him wondering, in the interim, whether she had been looking for some response other than an 'I'll be all right.' Finally, as he heard her own shower start up, his mind drifted to speculations of a more sensual nature.

It was a shock, then, when the chanting began. Very softly, of course; he knew she was making an effort not to wake him, but he strained to listen anyway. She was probably sending up her own memorial to her day, using the time to wind down. He wondered briefly whether she, as did so many of his women friends from college, suffered from insomnia. But, the quiet incantations, as intriguing as they were, acted upon him as something of a lullaby, an eerie contrast to the moans and shouts which had filled the jail at night time. Before he knew it, Jerry Donato was asleep.

-o-0-o-

"Daddy! No! It's not his fault! Daddy!"

Jerry was stumbling down the hall before he was fully awake.

"Daddy! Stop!"

Donato pushed his way into the darkened bedroom. "Sandra! Wake up!" He froze. She was huddled in the blackest corner, shivering and sweating.

"Don't hurt him. Please!" She was sobbing now.

Jerry knelt in front of her. "Sandra?"

Although her eyes were wide open, she was still in the dream. "Fox." She whispered the name several times, the word fading on her breath. With a shudder, she awoke. "Jerry?" She pulled herself to the foot of her bed. "Jerry?"

He slid a chair over to sit. "Sandra. Tell me about your families."

She was silent for a moment, leading Donato to conclude she was collecting her thoughts. "What do you want to know? I barely remember the Silverbergs." She frowned. "All that really stays with me from my time with them is sun, dust, classes." She gazed down at her fingers. "Oh, and water. Running my hands through water as I irrigated plants. Then how fast they would dry. Instantly, almost."

He shook his head. "Before that. Do you remember anything before that?"

She shrugged. "Why? And what are you doing here?"

He clasped his hands in his lap to stare at them for a moment. "I think you were right earlier."

"What?"

Donato rubbed the back of his neck. "When we find this family member, we'll know."

Sandra reached out to grasp his hand. "Jerry! Tell me!"

He licked his lips. "Do you remember any pets?"

She frowned. "Pets? The Millers had a golden retriever, Rex." She threw him a full lopsided grin. "The best dog, ever. The Silverbergs didn't have any, though. There were animals on the Kibbutz, but none were our pets. Why?"

"You were asking, no, *begging*, your Father not to hurt someone, or something. I think it was 'Fox,' whoever or whatever this Fox was or is. You mentioned a 'Fox' earlier, when you were remembering."

The chestnut-haired woman chewed her lower lip. "That FBI Agent said the family member was in the Bureau. Do you have his card?"

Jerry shook his head. "Perhaps there's a reason to run by my place after all."

Sandra rose before he could extend a hand to help. "Why stop there? I hate being out of control of my life. If he can verify that my memories mean something, then I want to know, and I want to know now."

Donato sighed. The forthright woman he so admired was taking charge, as she was wont to do. "Okay, but let's at least take the time to change into something slightly more presentable, all right?"

-o-0-o-

Nichols Residence  
San Diego, California  
Wednesday, May 27, 1998  
1:11 am

Phil Nichols stumbled on the entrance rug as he reached for the hall light switch. "Okay, okay, I'm coming." The pounding continued until he began unlocking the door. "I wondered when you would appear." The dry comment to the two waiting without was followed by a flash of a grin. "You have more questions, right?" He stepped back to admit them.

Sandra nodded. "This relative in the Bureau. I'm remembering someone or something named 'Fox.' Can he tell me who that is?"

The older man glanced sharply at her. "This way." Once he had them settled in his living room, he disappeared into the darkness, to return moments later with two folders. He handed the top one to her wordlessly. He watched as she read, her eyes having flared momentarily at the first page. The rest she absorbed without visible reaction.

She handed the papers to Donato, then looked up at Nichols. "So, this is who I am." The conclusion was offered in flat, lifeless tones. "Samantha Ann Mulder." She shook her head. "At least the middle name stayed the same."

"And the 'Fox' you remember is your brother." Jerry leaned toward the greying agent. "So, where is he? When can we meet him?" He stopped when a hand landed on his arm. "What?"

Sandra sighed. "This guy is a nut case who believes in ghosts and little green men. He's spent his career chasing things that don't exist! I'm not ready for this. Not now." She had her teeth clenched, attempting to suppress her visceral reaction.

Nichols settled, finally, on a side table, as he decided to bypass the issue of the X-Files for now. "I know this comes as something of a shock. You'll need the time to process it. Talk it over with Jerry, some of your friends. It wouldn't be possible for you to see him soon anyway. He's in Santorini with his FBI partner, Dana Scully, on a case." He passed her the second folder.

Jerry waited until she had perused the contents. "You should go, Sandie. You should meet him." He waved the first folder. "According to this, he's been looking for you all his life."

Crossing her arms, she slumped back against the cushions. "No."

The two men exchanged a glance, then Donato pressed his palm down on her wrist. "Why not?"

She glared at him. "We have to clear you of this little thing called a murder charge, Jerry."

The detective rose to begin pacing the room. "That." He turned to the FBI ASAC. "Can you help up on that?"

Nichols nodded. "We have someone coming out to check into Evans' other business dealings. But we will want to have Doctor Miller around to answer questions. So, she'll need to stay right here." He rose. "I was serious about what I said earlier. Sandra, you need to talk to someone. Your life is about to change drastically, and you need to be prepared for it." He offered her a card.

She glanced at it, then handed it back to him. "I don't need a shrink. I'm not the one who's insane. I'll take what comes; I always have."

The agent sighed. "I don't think this will be that simple, Doctor Miller, so I'll keep the reference until you ask for it again. And, I'm more than willing to talk to you, should you want a non-professional ear."

Sandra found her feet. "This Fox. Did you know him? Or know of him?"

The balding Montanan shrugged. "We have worked together on a few cases."

She waved a hand. "So, what's he really like? Is he completely crazy?"

The older man chewed his mustache for a moment. "He was one of the best criminal profilers the Bureau's produced. So much so that it earned him the nickname of 'Spooky'." He extended the papers again. "Now, take the folder, please. It's a copy of his official file, as is the one on Scully. You'll want to think these over, very carefully."

Jerry grasped Sandra's elbow firmly. "He's right, Sandie, we should go."

The two men exchanged a nod, then Donato escorted Sandra out the door.

Once they were gone, Phil Nichols dropped against the oak, then sighed. He needed to call the Mediterranean to update Mulder. But, first, he needed to touch base with his own partner. He crossed to the phone in the kitchen, then tapped out a number by memory. After the second ring elicited a response, he was surprised to realize he was tired. "Cary? Sorry to call this late at night. Give your star-lady a nudge there, will you? We need to talk."

-o-0-o-

Atlantis, Athinios City  
Santorini, Greece  
Wednesday, May 27, 1998  
10:12 am

Dana Scully glanced over at her partner as they waited in the convertible for Max to back out the Alpha-Romeo. After much debate, they had agreed to leave the sleeping Gunmen behind. The four were off to investigate possible sites for the artifacts without informing Patikopolis, or any of the other local officials. But, whether their potential adversaries were selling an undiscovered cache of antiquities, or generating their own, they were not going unprepared. She shifted to face Mulder, easing away from the surprisingly unfamiliar pressure of her SIG, which was strapped into her back holster for this present excursion. The tall agent behind the wheel was, she knew, carrying his usual double armament. Even Caroline, over Max's vociferous protests, had a loaded revolver in her purse.

Mulder's dark eyes never left the emerging sedan. "He has nightmares, you know."

"I'm not surprised. How did you first find out?"

Now, he looked over at her. "When we were in Athens and you were back in the States. He tried to talk to me about religion afterward." He guided the Fiat into the narrow lane behind Max and Caroline.

Scully simply nodded, bracing herself for the denunciation she expected to follow. But, her partner's reticence surprised her. "Mulder?"

He canted his eyes toward the passenger seat, then sighed. "He seems to have such strength. Nothing bothers him."

She stared at him for a long moment. "You didn't know him before. Many concentration camp - "

He was shaking his head. "No, I don't mean about that." He bit his lower lip for a moment. "I mean, most religious people are such frauds. They use their idea of God to try to force their will on other people. Like Reverend Hartley. But, not Max. I know he prays. He disappears into the study in the early hours to spend time reading Torah. I hear him then, too. But, he's never forced it on me, or on Mom. We talked in Athens, but that was all."

She continued watching him in silence.

He glanced at her. "Look, as a kid, I blamed God for what happened with Sam."

She reached over to touch his wrist. "I thanked you then, and I thank you now, for having shared that with me, Mulder."

He flashed her a pensive grin. "But, so much has changed since then, Scully." He pointed in a general southward direction. "We've met extraterrestrials, have their DNA under study, and they aren't at all what I believed they would be originally. I believed the UFO-MUFON line about their being here, performing tortuous medical experiments on humans for nefarious ends. But, the shape-shifters see us as just another species here on this planet. They detected us, investigated us, and left. They have their own agenda, one in which we don't play a significant part. Whether we succeed or fail is entirely up to us."

"I think that's always been the case." She sighed, then they exchanged a glance. "Mulder, based on what they told us, there are a multiplicity of sentient life forms in the universe. We can't know that there isn't at least some one or two which might resemble, however superficially, those greys of yours."

Now his eyes danced happily. "This is where I pull over and go down on bended knee, isn't it, Doctor?"

One cheek creased. "I've always been open to extreme possibilities, just so long as they were testable ones." She pointed. "Look, Max is signaling. You'll need to turn right there."

His hands flew over the wheel. "Thanks. With Sam having been raised on a Kibbutz, I'm certain she's found something worthwhile in my ancestors's religion." He gripped the steering wheel, until Scully could see his knuckles turning white. "So, maybe it's time I took Judaism seriously, at least long enough to learn something about it."

She sent him one of her full-wattage smiles. "Mulder, I'd enjoy learning a little more about Judaism myself. I've long ago learned that the truth requires more than one viewpoint to uncover. Besides, there's too much of myself Catholicism asks me to surrender."

His eyebrows threw a canted question at her.

She held up one hand. "Oh, I'm not thinking of converting. But, it's as I said about different viewpoints. Unless I'd read Missy's books on the Magna Mater, I wouldn't have been able to contribute so fully to this investigation, now would I?"

Mulder reached over to clasp her fingers quickly. "Thanks. I'm glad I'm not being forced to make these journeys on my own."

They settled back to finish the drive in silence.

-o-0-o-

El Camino Memorial Park  
San Diego, California  
Wednesday, May 27, 1998  
6:03 am

Jerry Donato picked his way listlessly between the grey and rust headstones. He had left Sandra a note, in hopes that his departure during what few hours of sleep she had been able to catch wouldn't send her charging off on her bike to find him. But, he needed to come here, to be in this place for a while. A fine mist gave the lawns an unnatural chill for an early summer morning, but it suited his mood. No matter what the season, it always seemed as if it were still that awful late autumn afternoon when he had buried her. He shook his head. It wasn't a bad place, as cemeteries go, just one Maria never needed to be in, or, this soon in her beautiful life.

He stopped in front of a simple salt and pepper granite marker set level with the ground, where the bare facts of her life were still inscribed, sharp and fresh. "Maria Margaret Hernandez. June 12, 1964-November 30, 1997. Serve and Protect." He knew the words preserved in quartz and mica; he had murmured them over and over again in his nightmares. Closing his eyes, he waited while the hillside mentally repopulated itself. The Chief of Police had come, which he had expected, but so had the mayor and most of the city council. A police officer shot in the line of duty was as unpleasant as it was uncommon, but he'd never seen a politician yet who could pass up a photo-op with a grieving family. Maria's mother and sisters, six in all, as she had complained during a too-rare Christmas shopping excursion they had taken together, had been given center-stage.

That was how it should be, he knew, but it still stung. Maria's death had left a gaping hole in his life that would never heal, no matter how much time had passed. He could still see the priest standing over the coffin, hear the salute fired to a fallen colleague, smell the sharpness of the spent rounds. This ground had been heaped with flowers, from fellow officers, her family, her friends, the kids she had helped. He had contributed a cascade of daisies for the coffin. He remembered seeing them wave in the air as he had marched, still numb with disbelief, first pallbearer on the right.

With a sigh, he forced himself to look down at the stone again. Only a shriveled stem remained from his last visit, so he knelt to remove it, then position the amaryllis he had brought in its place. It was a single ruby trumpet, he realized, proclaiming silently the glory of the woman he had known and loved so fiercely. He wondered in passing if she would have liked something else, a clutch of tulips for the spring, or roses for summer. _Did she even like flowers?_ Theirs had not been the sort of relationship where such things were discussed, filled as their days were with arrest forms and stake-outs. A white lily would have been most appropriate, he concluded, since it was the symbol of the woman for whom she had undoubtedly been named.

Tracing the letters with his thumb, he began speaking without thinking. "Maria, you need to come back and keep me straight. Evans was killed this week, and I was arrested for his murder. You remember him; you've called him a sanctimonious pig a time or two, as I recall." He grinned at the memory. "Maybe you can ask the Big Guy up there why. I don't know." He ran the back of his hand over his face, then sank on the ground, legs crossed. "I've been put on administrative leave until the matter is settled. Me, your partner. The smart one. Johnson shoved us together for a while, but it didn't work out." He glanced at her name. "You remember my complaining about him, I'm sure."

A noise startled him, pulling him to his feet to reach for the spot on his belt where he kept his gun, bare now that he was relieved of duty. But it was only a white-haired woman, weeding around a headstone on a distant hill.

"I'm working with Richard Gonzales now, or, I will be when all this is over." He sat again. "He's better, but he's not like you. He tolerates my flaws, but you, you seemed to enjoy them. The Wilton murder's still unsolved, officially, that is. If John Williams ever wakes up, there are a bunch of questions he probably won't be able to answer. He hasn't checked in with you, has he?" He look down, but there was no response, as if he had expected any. Uncomfortable now, he shifted to wrap his hands around his shins. "You kept telling me I needed a girlfriend, well, with luck, I may be able to prove you right. I told you about - "

An engine turning over broke the stillness of the morning.

Donato knees creaked as he stood. "I'll be back, Maria." Before he moved away, however, he collected the brown stem from his last visit.

-o-0-o-

Atlantis, Athinios City  
Santorini, Greece  
Wednesday, May 27, 1998  
2:49 pm

John Byers staggered out of his bedroom. He wanted to give Vicky, whom he knew to be making one of her lightning visits to DC, a quick call, but there was no phone in the spare bedroom he was using. He was forcing his sleep-fogged, jet-lagged brain to remember the way to the study when he heard the door to the next room crack open.

"Byers!" It was Langly, his long blond hair as disheveled as the bearded Gunman felt. "What has you up, man?"

"Vicky. Sorry." He stepped away. Checking back over his shoulder, he smiled as he watched Langly disappear in the direction of the kitchen. That hollow leg of his friend's had to fill up one of these days. The thought carried him down the hall, still smirking as he tapped out his rarely used home phone number, hoping to, at least, reach Vicky's answering machine. Before he entered the last digit, however, he spied Mulder's note, laid out across the computer's keyboard.

"What's that?" Frohike was in the door. Byers shrugged a greeting to the third Gunman, who was rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he crossed the room.

"From our hyperkinetic G-man." The bearded Gunman handed over the single sheet.

Frohike was still reading when Langly, his cheeks as full of turkey and rye as was the freshly-prepared sandwich in his left hand, entered. "Whazzup?" He managed to work the query out around the impromptu lunch, before wiping mustard off his chin with his thumb.

The round-faced Gunman frowned. "What *is* it with this guy? He'll wear Dana out before she's fully recovered."

Byers, a quiet conversation with his wife now obviously a hopeless cause, sighed. "She wouldn't go if she didn't think she was up to it." He waved away Frohike's objection. "They're off to Exomitis Cape to look for the purported source of the artifacts Andrews was selling."

The phone buzzed, silencing them all. The bearded Gunman reached for it, but stopped when Langly pointed to the answering machine. They waited through Max's recorded message only to hear an unfamiliar voice. "Hiram. I'll call." Then there was a click.

Langly swallowed the bite he had been chewing. "Hiram? Is that who I think that is?"

Frohike was regarding the unassuming black box at the other side of the desk with pure venom. "Yes, it is."

Byers remembered his friend commiserating with Mulder about the Mossad Agent's attempted intrusion into Scully's life, then held up his hand tiredly. "We *know*, Frohike. But, Agent Scully has more sense than that. If he's calling, it must have something to do with the Bern bank problems."

Frohike spun. "But they-" He pointed. "-they *use* people like Max for their own purposes. Why are they trusting him?"

Langly patted his friend's arm. "If it had anything to do with the State of Israel, they'd find out eventually. They're almost as good as we are."

Another ring from the phone had the round-faced Gunman stalking over to it.

"Mister Lowenberg, I need to speak with Mulder. He has my number here on the West Coast." The voice was much older, and gravelly.

Frohike grabbed the receiver before the call disconnected. "Nichols? Is that you? I'll call you back once we go silent." He nodded to Langly, who stuffed the last of the sandwich in his mouth so he could plug the phone into a silver box propped against the far wall. He replaced the receiver, then waited, holding the remaining bread in one hand as he worked.

Once the blond Gunman signaled the all-clear with a nod that sent waves up and down the coiled cord of the headphones he had donned, Frohike tapped out the number. "Nichols?"

"You ready?"

"We are."

"Good. You three are in Santorini? I just wanted to update Mulder on Sandra. She's beginning to remember snatches of her childhood with him, so I gave her copies of the official folders on himself and Scully. I'll fax a duplicate of the contents your way so those two can prepare."

"Sure, we'll wait." Frohike waved to Byers, who rose to catch the pages as they spit out of the fax machine. "So, What's she like?" That exact question had been the subject of much speculation over the past few weeks. The bearded Gunman listened carefully as he assembled the sheets, while Langly stopped chewing to hear the answer.

"As impatient as he is, actually. And as loyal. She seems to have developed some sort of bond with this Detective Donato, who was helping her on the Wilton case."

The round-faced Gunman smoothed his hair off his forehead. "Ah. A hint. Don't ask, don't analyze."

"You don't have to tell me."

"Thanks for the documents. They seem to all be here. Hang tight. We'll be sending an E-mail with two attachments your way. The first is some software you'll need to install. The second contains our latest on the Evans death." He waited through a low chuckle.

"You know I'm no good with this twenty-first century stuff. I'll have to get Ros over here. Thanks for the updates."

After brief salutations, they concluded the call.

-o-0-o-

El Camino Memorial Park  
San Diego, California  
Wednesday, May 27, 1998  
6:31 am

With a grunt, Jerry Donato staggered away from Maria's tombstone to trot to the next hill. A backhoe had just bit into the soil over undisturbed ground, breaking more than just earth when he reached the solitary figure. He blinked with surprise at the figure he slipped up behind. "Sir?"

Sergeant Johnson turned. "Good morning, Detective." His dark eyes dropped to the brown flower in Donato's hand. "So, you're the one who leaves those. I had thought, but I wasn't sure."

Sudden tears of gratitude stung the thick-chested detective's eyes, so he turned to read the headstone. "I didn't realize Evans was buried here." He studied the bare tombstone, the grass just beginning to sprout over the grave. "It looks so forlorn." He winced at the reference to the rough stem in his hand.

Johnson shrugged. "I knew him from when I first joined the force. He was a different man then, Jerry. His sister wants us to redo the investigation."

"Oh?" Donato stopped when the African-American waved curtly.

"Detective, you know I can't discuss details with you."

Jerry shrugged. "Yeah, but if it clears me, who am I to argue?"

The African-American attempted a smile. "I thought you would see it that way. Mike had a fine career in the Department, but I think you're right about his mental state at the end there. With all the long hours and bad food, he probably had a touch of arteriosclerosis, which might have accounted for his strange behavior."

The detective rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, that would make sense. He didn't take good care of himself. A sister, you say?"

"What?" Johnson turned. "Jerry, if you know something..."

Donato shook his head. "I wish I did, Sir." He reached out to pat his Sergeant's shoulder, but at a grunt from Johnson, dropped his hand. With a nod, the thick-chested detective turned to head back to Maria's grave.

-o-0-o-

Santorini, Greece  
Wednesday, May 27, 1998  
11:43 am

Dana Scully checked her partner's face. "Mulder? You okay?"

His jaw flexed before he answered. "Pardon me for being confused, but we seem to be doing a lot of climbing. I thought Exomitis Cape was on the water, near Ancient Thira."

One cheek creased. _How out of it are you? Perhaps more importantly, what's really on your mind? Certainly not the possibility of reading Torah occasionally._

"Scully?"

She pointed her chin at him fondly. "We're not headed to Exomitis, Mulder."

"Oh? When did this happen?"

She cocked her head at his sudden attack of paranoia. "We're stopping at the Monastery of Prophet Illias first. Max knows that one of the brothers has made an especial study of the antiquities uncovered here on the island. If anyone's heard anything, either about frauds or secret discoveries, he will have." She touched his arm. "Tell me, what are you really thinking about?"

He smiled at her for the first time during the drive. "You, Scully."

Both eyebrows arched. "Me? Why?"

"I know you probably don't want to talk about this, but, your brothers have treated you like dirt these past few months." His thumbs drummed out an unsteady rhythm on the steering wheel. "You shouldn't be so passive about the whole thing." He canted his eyes toward her. "It isn't fair."

A shrug. "Life isn't fair, Mulder. You ought to know that by now." He cut her a hard glare, which surprised her, until she realized this was her partner, champion of lost causes, beside her. She hastened to reassure him, but he spoke first.

"I called your Mother while you were in the hospital in Athens."

Scully blinked. "What? But she never..."

Mulder licked his lips angrily. "Exactly. I had to do all the calling. She never once called the hospital, even after I gave her the number and told her I would pick up all the charges. What's happened in your family, Scully? Have they turned you away for good?"

She watched, wondering if this would lead him to another bout of self-recrimination. But, his eyes were clear and focused, so she knew she was dealing with Mulder the Crusader, not the Flagellant who so often surfaced. "Mulder, that's not how we do things in our house."

He let out a burst of air. "What? You just don't speak for years? When you were returned, I picked up on those *vibes* between Mrs. Scully and Melissa. Was religion so big a deal that they never wanted to see each other again?"

She crossed her arms. "Mulder, that was different. Mel and Mom were always disagreeing. As eldest daughter, there were just responsibilities to be assumed that she simply didn't want. She was supposed to be Mom's second in command when Ahab was away."

He was fidgeting now. "So, what did Bill and Charlie do? Play pool in the garage?"

Equally frustrated, she tucked her hair behind her ear. "It's not *like* you're thinking it was."

"Ah. So what *was* it like, Scully? Did you set your shoulders and take her place? Scrubbing toilets and picking up just like you were told? Then burying your nose in your homework just to have a little time to yourself?"

"Mulder! You make it sound like slavery. It wasn't. There were responsibilities to be assumed, duties to be performed. I did it then because it needed to be done, but now it's over and behind me." She softened her tone. "I'm free. I can have the kind of life I want to have. Bill and Charlie have their own families to take care of them, and Mom, she's okay. It isn't easy without Ahab, but she's strong."

"So?" It was spoken in that peeved, demanding voice of his, used when he thought she had missed the point.

She blinked over at him. "So? What?"

He gripped the steering wheel. "So, duties are reciprocal. She left you hanging. That's not right."

She brushed his knee with her fingertips. "Mom doesn't have that much money, and she knew you were watching out for me, Mulder. What I asked her to do was very, very hard for her, going to my brothers to get DNA samples like she did. I know her. It must have taken nearly every ounce of courage she has to have done that. She doesn't like conflicts, over anything."

"Oh, Scully."

She felt the words, rather than heard them. "It's my family. We'll settle up eventually."

He glared a final time, then sighed. "I just don't want to see you drift away from them. You've put yourself on the line too often to keep them safe."

Thinking of a long drive up a dark highway, then surrendering their hopes for finding Samantha in an empty parking lot, she clutched, then dropped, his hand. "As have you, Mulder. I appreciate what you're proposing, but it really isn't necessary."

He waited until they had spun around a particularly sharp curve before he continued. "Why? My family was broken by the Consortium for its own ends. There's no reason yours should be."

She dropped her left hand into the cradle of her right, both resting in the space between her pinched knees. "Oh, we make our own families. Not all the members are related by blood."

His grasp and release of her wrist came and went lightning-fast. She appreciated his deep and genuine concern, which she shared, but there was more involved than he understood. A covert international organization was something they could, with time and effort, ferret out, expose to justice, eliminate. But, who could fathom the years of silence, or the endless meaningless conversations that tap-danced around unspoken suffering in the same way? She had been, as Mulder pointed out so incisively, forced to take over a job that had not been hers, had shouldered more responsibility than her brothers. But, even if she had been the eldest, if she had chosen the life with the husband and the babies and the perfect yellow house behind a white picket fence in the suburbs, she was uncertain she would have been accepted fully by her family. She was simply too different. She closed her eyes momentarily, aware as she was of her partner's continued scrutiny.

"Scully, whatever I can do to help, I will."

She attempted a shaky smile. "I know that, Mulder, and I appreciate it. More than you know. Sometimes, just by you listening when I need to talk - " She pointed to the convertible in front of them. "It looks like we're here."

She fell silent to gaze in wonder at the cluster of bright white buildings topping the hill. If she never returned to this jewel-like place, she would always remember the beauty of this retreat, with its blue domes covered in gilded stars.

-o-0-o-

El Camino Memorial Park  
San Diego, California  
Wednesday, May 27, 1998  
6:58 am

Martin Johnson sighed as he opened his car door, then slammed it shut. The investigation into Evans' death could proceed without his presence for a few hours. Right now, one of his officers needed his attention, more than he had realized until this morning. He glanced over toward the hill where Maria Hernandez was buried. As he expected, a dark shape topped it, so he trotted away from the road, ignoring the nagging voice that was still scolding him to return to the precinct house. Evans had never mentioned a family, ever, in the years he had been on the force. So, for one to show up now, demanding and accusing, told him a guilty conscience was working, more than sisterly concern. In Jerry Donato, he had enough self-imposed penitence to deal with.

His musings carried him to the younger detective's side. Donato was sprawled over Maria's headstone, his eyes sunken closed above tracks of moisture. Johnson found himself wondering if his officer had spent nights here before. If he had, then the situation was far worse than the police sergeant had imagined it was. He knelt to shake a wool-clad shoulder gently. "Jerry? You okay?" It was a foolish thing to say, but the younger man was stirring.

"Sorry, Sir. I didn't get much sleep last night. With it being quiet and all, I just, went out, I guess." Donato rubbed his eyes. "Sandra remembered more of her childhood, so we stopped by to see that FBI agent, Nichols. He gave us - Sir? What is it?"

Johnson was shaking his head. "Detective Donato, I owe you an apology."

"Sir?" Jerry blinked up at him.

"I came here in the early morning when there are the fewest visitors. But I didn't realize you were one of them. Nor was I aware how close the two graves were to each other."

Donato climbed slowly to his feet. "That's all right, Sir. I'm just glad someone else remembers her. And him."

Johnson chuckled. "Believe me, Detective, she's not likely to be forgotten anytime soon."

Donato, his eyes on the horizon, nodded. "I suppose I just messed this up, big-time, Sir. Internal Affairs will be all over us both."

A long dark hand rose. "Not a problem, Jerry, I'll see to that. But, I do have a question for you. Did Evans ever mention a sister to you? I'd never heard him discuss family, at all."

The thick-chested detective rubbed the back of his neck. "To be honest, Sir, he told me he was an only child." He rolled his eyes. "Among many, many other personal details I never needed to hear from him." He clicked into investigator mode. "So, you think this woman is somehow connected with those properties?"

"I think she might be. But, until this-" The sergeant waved his hand dismissively. "-business is cleared up, I can't use one of my best people to look into the matter."

Jerry smiled in acknowledgment of the compliment. "What about Gonzales? He's a good detective, Sir."

Johnson nodded. "I have him on it already. If IA has a problem with that, I don't care. I won't let my officers be railroaded for a quick conviction."

Jerry sighed. "He hadn't been working with me long enough for me to contaminate him, obviously."

The Sergeant's gaze dropped to the headstone. "Do you come here often, Detective?"

Donato shoved both hands in his pockets. "About once a week or so. Not as frequently as I should, Sir." He squared his shoulders. "I miss her every day."

"As do we all, Jerry." The African-American pointed toward the front entrance. "But, she wouldn't want you to suffer like this. Go home and get some sleep. I'll alert you if anything new turns up, all right?"

"Thank you. I'd appreciate that." Donato knelt to straighten the amaryllis, then, as a sudden thought struck him, glanced up. "Sir, how far away did you park?" He rose to point to his Ford. "I could give you a lift?"

Johnson rubbed his chin. "Thanks for the offer, but, no. It's better this way. Besides, I'm not completely desk-bound."

"Yeah." Jerry extended his hand. "Thank you, Sir." A brief shake, then the two men separated.

Johnson watched Donato's back recede as he pulled out his cell. The sooner this business could be concluded, the better, for his officers, and the department.

-o-0-o-

Monastery of the Prophet Illias  
Santorini, Greece  
Wednesday, May 27, 1998  
12:01 pm

Scully's green-blue eyes settled on a tall, emaciated figure in black waiting in front of the closest building. Both his black robes and his long grey beard billowed in the mountain breeze, unlike his stiff sable hood that covered his ears to his neck. That began moving only as he nodded a greeting at their approach. The tall square shape, widening to a mortarboard at the top, told her the wearer belonged to an Orthodox, rather than a Roman, order.

But, his grey eyes were dancing as they emerged from their vehicles. "Max!" He extended his hand to Mulder's white-haired stepfather, then the two embraced with the exuberance Scully had learned to accept in the Mediterranean. The monk surprised her when he did not ignore her and Caroline, but instead, bowed deeply to Mulder's mother. "I didn't expect to see either of you again so soon after the town meeting. It's a rare pleasure."

Mulder, his fingers clutching Scully's elbow, pulled them both forward. She could feel the tension flowing from him, whether as a result of their discussions in the car, or, due to their current location, was difficult to say.

Max placed a gentle hand on the younger man's shoulder. "This is my stepson, Mulder, the FBI agent, and his partner at the Bureau, Dana Scully."

"Brother Petras." He examined them closely as he shook their hands. "You must forgive me. I've never met agents of the United States Government before. You're somehow different from what I expected."

Scully tucked her chin, then pointed to her partner's tie. "I'm sure we are. I warn him they'll scare people one day, but he doesn't listen."

Throwing his head back, Petras let loose a deep, joyful laugh. "Ah, my dear, at least you don't have to look at black all day long." He patted his cassock.

Mulder released an impatient huff at them, then stepped up to the monk. "You've seen this before?"

Scully noted the cold look the bearded man shot him. It was obvious her partner was oblivious to the relaxed pace of lives, other than their own, here. She leaned out of his hand.

"Brother Petras, I'm certain Max has explained our interests in this visit to your lovely retreat." She was taken aback by the startled flash in the grey eyes staring down at her. Perhaps their host was less used to Americans than even she expected.

But he surprised her again. "Yes, he has. I'm happy to have others to help me in my attempts to keep this island free of theft and crime. This way, please."

As they walked, she glanced curiously through what few door were open. But, despite the glimpses of halls, libraries, gardens, and the one chapel she caught, there were no other monks visible. Perhaps they were forbidden to speak with outsiders, except by special permission of their Father. It would not have been like the American monastics she had read about, but, this was another world altogether. Her musings lasted until Petras halted in front of a locked wooden door.

"Scullee." Mulder had bent down to hiss in her ear. "Don't you think it's odd we haven't seen anyone else?"

"Who?" She stretched up to avoid being overheard.

"The other monks." Any tone had dropped from the words.

"Not at all, my friend." Petras was searching for his key in the ring hanging from his belt. "They're meditating or at prayer."

"Our apologies for keeping you from your order's routine, Brother." Caroline held up both hands. "If there had been a better time - "

He shook his head. "No. No, you misunderstand. A monk is supposed to be meditating when his body is at rest. Our duties will commence soon enough." He pushed the door open to reveal a flight of stairs, which were cut into the rock of the hillside. "This way." He held it back on the hinges long enough for Max to guide Caroline through, then for Scully to step out ahead of Mulder. "It's on the third floor, I'm afraid. And locked as well." They fell silent until they were at the top.

Once inside, Petras waved them to a thick-legged table. "As you can see, the monastery has had artifacts, both authentic and fraudulent, brought here before." The cedar surface was strewn with pot shards, fragmented figurines, and an assortment of clay tablets.

Scully reached for one of the red plaques. "If these are real, then why are you hiding them away here?" She peered at the markings closely. "Oh, I see. They aren't real. The writing is neither Linear A nor Linear B."

The monk sighed. "Indeed, Agent Scully."

Mulder bent over her shoulder. "What? The characters are too small?" At her backwards glance, he huffed. "I took a few turns through the Ashmolean." He then cocked an eyebrow at Petras, who was blinking in surprise at his words.

"And too many." The monk was expounding enthusiastically on the subject. "If the tablet were an authentic relic like those dating back to the height of the palace of Knossos, there would be perfectly stenciled rows of proto-Greek letters, nearly always on one side."

Scully nodded. "These were official documents, so except for a few rough drafts, the scribes attempted to be penman-perfect. There wasn't the freedom to develop individual writing styles, as there was for the Maya scribes."

Caroline lifted another off the table. "On this one, the creators gave themselves away as moderns by inserting spaces for word breaks, though I doubt these assemblages of characters are anything other than random."

A broad smile stretching his lips, Petras turned to the white-haired man beside him. "To think, Maximilian, you've kept these two scholars a secret from me." He thumped his back stoutly, then handed Mulder a different tablet. "This one is even better. It was the first one the monastery received, right after Ventris and Chadwick finished translating Linear B."

Mulder frowned. "Hieroglyphics?" He looked over at his partner for a confirming nod. "But, why here?"

She tugged his arm lower so she could examine the surface. "Whoever did it must have read the speculations on the Egypt-Crete connection. The frescoes we saw at Akrotiri were considered at one time to show Egyptian influences."

Petras waved them to scattered chairs whose construction was as rustic as that of the table. "So, what have you brought me?"

Caroline dug the catalog out of her bag to hand to him. "It's not what we have, it's what we've discovered is being sold."

While the monk peered at the images on the thick pages, Scully glanced over at her partner. His hazel eyes were flitting from one dusty fragment to another. She wondered how long he would wait for their expert to finish before he exploded. Although she knew their conversation about her family and their futures together was far from concluded, she was glad for the temporary distraction. But, when Mulder shoved his hands in his pockets, then began chewing his lower lip, she knew she had to act. She grasped his elbow lightly while she whispered his name.

When he glanced down, she could tell by the gleam in his eye that he was edging toward a theory relating the flotsam and jetsam on the table to their case, but before he could throw out a playful quip, Petras shouted, then ran out the door. The tall agent bent over her. "And here you were worried about me, Scully."

She leaned until her shoulder contacted his chest. "I'm always worried about you, Mulder."

Caroline turned to her husband. "I wonder where he's off to."

Max was equally confused. "I don't know."

"Excuse me." Mulder rose. He was almost to the door through which Petras had departed so precipitously when he had to take a step back, or be struck in the face as it was flung open.

The monk held out two figurines, one in each hand. "I knew I'd seen this before!" The one in his left was identical to many of the images Scully had seen in her reading. It was also a near-copy of the goddess she had dreamed had spoken to her several months earlier.

The auburn-haired pathologist frowned. "I didn't think all these are fakes?"

"No." The monk was solemn as he carefully positioned the statuette that had caught her eye on the table. "This one was found over two hundred years ago, well before Evans had even thought of uncovering Minos' palace." He slammed the one in his right grip down behind it. "But, this one is a fraud. Observe."

Scully reached in her briefcase for her hand lens, but Caroline had pulled out her over-sized magnifier first.

"I see." The white-haired woman was delicately rotating the authentic statuette. "These finely detailed lines in the mesh of her skirt are different. On the original, they've been scored into the clay, then filled with pigment." She shifted to study the modern copy. "On the fake, one can make out the brush-strokes if one is careful." She bent, finally, over an image in the book. "I can make out the brush-strokes here as well. This Andrews is selling fakes."

Petras nodded. "Good quality copies, for all that. Whoever is doing this is skilled at the craft, yet someone who hasn't had an original in his or her hands to work from. It's too bad he or she got greedy. There's plenty of money to be had in the sales of museum-quality replicas. A high-quality duplicate can go for thousands of dollars."

Max shook his head. "But, a fake, if successfully passed as an original, would bring several hundred times the amount. You know that, Brother Petras."

"So I do." The monk looked to each of them in turn. "So I do."

Mulder began pacing. "Okay, we've stumbled onto antiquities fraud. As did our stiff, probably. But, why would that lead him to attempt to kidnap a small child?"

Caroline regarded him solemnly. "Sometimes, Fox, people use children to achieve their own ends."

Mother and Son stared at each other, then Mulder nodded. "There was evidence hidden in the boy's clothing. It would have been perfectly easy to get past customs. They don't search children, just adults and luggage." He retreated into himself. "I don't... I don't remember feeling any strange lumps when I held the boy."

Suddenly recalling the flannel horse, Scully cradled one of the smaller figurines in the palm of her hand. "But, something like this could be hidden inside a stuffed animal." She looked down at the caption on the image. "It's the right size, just over four inches tall. She had a bag of toys on her shoulder."

"Perhaps you should finally visit the Akrotiri store that belongs to that tour guide's family?" Max caught the gaze of each partner.

Scully nodded, but it was Mulder who replied. "Perhaps we should."

-o-0-o-

142 Curie Avenue, University City  
San Diego, California  
Wednesday, May 27, 1998  
8:27 am

Jerry Donato turned the engine off, then rubbed his eyes for a long moment. He should be returning to his own apartment, to catch up on sleep in his own bed. But, thoughts of that dingy room with the broken air conditioner and the mildewed bathroom were more than he was ready to handle. He needed to be outside, so he had steered the car toward this house. He half-hoped Sandra wasn't home, so he could stretch out under one of her maples to nap. The weather would be perfect for it, not too hot, no threat of rain.

But, just as he was emerging from the driver's side, he heard the side gate creak open. "Sandra!" There was no answer.

Then, a red ball of fuzz shot through the slit in the gate, so Donato, arms wide, knelt. "Seignior, you know better than this."

"Salazar! Come back here!" The red slats of the door slammed on those of the fence, the professor intent on rescuing her charge.

Jerry edged to one side, them waited. The tabby had decided his break for freedom would wait long enough to chew a blade or two of grass, so the detective used the opportunity to shift between the cat and any passing cars.

Sandra snatched him up into her arms. "Alonzo, you had Mommy worried."

Jerry hurried to her side. "I thought you'd be at school today."

She cocked an eyebrow. "I thought you'd be here." She slid a leaf out of Salazar's fur. "Was someone bothering you?"

He shook his head. "Not at all. I just needed to talk to an old friend."

She nodded. "Oh."

He gazed over at her. "I was visiting Maria's grave. I go there sometimes when I need to think."

"Ah."

Her reticence surprised him. "Sergeant Johnson showed up to visit Evans' grave while I was there. Apparently, his sister showed up and wants a more thorough examination."

She stepped in front of him. "Well, if it clears you, it's a good thing. She wasn't there at his funeral?"

He shrugged. "I wouldn't know. Given the circumstances, I didn't figure it was wise of me to attend."

She nodded. "Imagine that. A sister showing up out of the blue."

As they tracked back up the concrete, he repeated his question. "So, why are you here?"

She clutched the red body tightly. "I needed a mental health day. Normally, I'd be working on my research, but, with no classes to teach, I just called in and informed Jeanette."

He nodded. "I'm certain she understood." After they were through, he made a point of latching the gate behind them.

Sandra let Salazar leap out of her arms. "Not meaning this as anything other than curiosity, but, why did you come back here?"

He smiled. "I wanted to take a nap."

"Ah. In my backyard?"

A shrug, then they waited while the supine tabby wiggled under the round bench. "It works for him."

She chuckled. "You wouldn't fit."

He sobered. "Sandra, you need to go meet your real family. That's where your future lies, not here in San Diego."

A snort. "Who's to say where my real family is? The FBI? You? I make my own family. This is my life. With family..." She knelt at the edge of the walkway. "Have I told you about my garden?"

Jerry sighed, recognizing a diversionary tactic when he saw one. "No, you haven't." If he kept at her, she might open up about what was really bothering her. Most amnesiacs were ecstatic about recovery of their pasts.

She pointed to the furthest corner of the walled space. "This is what is known as a witches' garden. I have laid it out in four quadrants, one for each function: healing, nourishing, cleansing, attracting. I laid the stones for the circular walk myself. Tom and Judy helped me with the crosswalks, though."

Since her face was coloring, he waved his hands. "So, where's the nightshade? The belladonna?"

A sharp glare. "I don't mean it literally. I couldn't plant anything that would be poisonous to a certain fuzzy person here. There's catnip in the healing corner, between ginger and garlic. He can munch on those all he wants to. Along the walk, I've planted borage and germander."

He nodded.

"The nourishing corner has those herbs you know from cooking: thyme, mint, parsley, basil, and rosemary." She pointed to each as she named them. "I have three varieties of thyme: English, lemon, and silver. The basil has just started, so it's the low plants in front. The mints are three as well: peppermint, spearmint, and lemon balm."

She was relaxing visibly, so he wanted her to continue. "What constitutes a cleansing herb?"

Her hazel eyes sparkling, she hurried to the furthest corner. "Those which can be used to refresh or disinfect, like the sages, chamomile, hyssop, and lemon verbena."

He pointed to the remaining quadrant. "That's the corner we were working on, right?"

She nodded. "Yes, it was. Thanks. The attracting corner is for birds and butterflies. I have lavender, rosemary, artimesia, marigolds, and roses. Salazar loves to watch them."

Donato dropped onto the bench as she hopped along tan pavers in the beds. "Sandra, just thinking about all the work you must do to keep this up is wearing me out."

She had been weeding without conscious thought. "Oh, it's not so bad. I sometimes come home for lunch just to enjoy the space. If you check under the bench, you'll see I've installed an outlet to plug in my laptop. I get much work done out here."

His ears pressed against his skull, Salazar charged around the bench twice, then, tail turned over at the tip, dove into the mint bushes. A pair of sparrows flew out, complaining as they went.

Jerry smiled. "The king of beasts in action."

She settled beside him. "I see he has you convinced." She fidgeted for a moment, then began pacing along one crosswalk again.

He watched her. Whatever was on her mind would come out, soon. "Sandra, talk to me."

She stopped at the far end of one of the arms of the walk, then sank to the ground, tucking her feet up by her hips. "I like being on my own."

"Oh? All the time?"

She crossed her arms over her head. "More than you think. For being a farm, the Kibbutz was one of the noisiest places I know."

He smiled. "That was what Maria's family was like. Everyone talking all the time."

Sandra shuddered. "I can't take too much of that."

"Nor can I. After one Thanksgiving, that was enough. I enjoyed working with Maria, but, with her family, you couldn't even sit on the porch and have quiet."

She crossed her legs at the ankles. "Yes. I know what you mean. At the Kibbutz, there were always new people, coming in and out. Every space was shared; there was no privacy."

"I'm sorry."

She blinked at him in surprise. "For what?"

"For invading your space." He struggled to his feet. "I should go."

"No!" The speed with she reached his side startled them both. She grasped his wrist. "I like having you here. Really. I do. I like having my own place, but I like being able to share it when I want to." She ran her hand up his arm tentatively. "And I do like it when you're here."

He stepped up next to her, holding her gaze as he moved closer than he had thought possible. "I..." He cupped her cheeks in his hands. "I like being here, too, Sandra. Thanks for letting me stay." His nose was so close to her face he could catch a whiff of the cinnamon he knew she used to flavor her coffee.

Her tapered fingers floated up to his jaw, stroking the stubbled face gently. "Jerry. I'm glad I could help. I..." She ran her thumb over his lower lip, then leaned down toward him.

He gulped. "Sandra, I don't..."

"Shh." She ran her tongue over her own lips.

A police siren cut through the air.

"No." Jerry winced. "Not now."

She pulled away. "I'm afraid so." She rubbed her hand over her eyes, then looked around for Salazar.

Swishing his tail, the round tabby was glaring at the blinking lights at the end of the driveway.

A uniformed officer was about to knock of the gate when Sandra opened it. "Yes?"

Jerry, his arms full of perturbed red feline, stepped up beside her. "What's happened?"

"Detective Donato? Sergeant Johnson wanted me to have you come down to the station. There's been a break in the case."

Sandra exchanged a glance with the thick-chested detective. "Which case? Is John Williams conscious?"

The uniform blanched. "No, Ma'am. And you'd better come along, too."

With a sigh, Donato passed Salazar to Sandra. "I suppose the Seignior will simply have to come along afterward to straighten us all out, won't he?"

The officer looked from one to the other in confusion, then waited for her to deposit the cat inside the back door before the three drove away.

-o-0-o-

Atlantis, Athinios City  
Santorini, Greece  
Wednesday, May 27, 1998  
11:51 am

"Line-chen, you really should let Mulder and Dana handle things from here." Max turned off the engine.

She shook her head. "No, that's not right, Maximilian. I'm perfectly capable of handling a weapon."

Her use of his full first name telling him this was not a discussion to be concluded easily, Max turned at the sound of approaching footsteps.

Langly's grin died when he saw how serious they were.

Mulder trotted over to the long-haired Gunman. "It's okay. We were just discussing our next move."

Max was helping Caroline out of the convertible while he kept his attention on their enlarged group of guests.

He heard Langly's voice. "We have an identity for the man who attacked the Doc."

"Oh?" Scully had joined her partner. "How did you find that out?"

"Byers finally called Vicky. She had been getting the run-around looking into the guy, until she happened to mention that it was for a case the Bureau was working on. Then, everything fell into place. It seems that tripped protocols going back to the time of Frances Knight and Hoover."

Max watched his stepson fidget. It was obvious the Gunman was taking too long to explain.

The dark-haired agent could no longer contain himself. "So, who is he?"

The white-haired man glanced down at his wife, who was smiling at the clipped question as well.

The long-haired Gunman looked to Scully, who nodded her support.

She took a breath. "We may be running out of time here."

"Okay." Langly sighed. "They got a match between the one you sent and the guy's passport photo. He was Robert Chapman, a private detective working out of San Diego. It seems he was hired by a very exclusive law firm to look into those same land deals we uncovered. Byers has the name of the firm. It's a cast of thousands."

"It usually is." Max had joined the three.

The long-haired Gunman grinned at the older couple. "Hey, Mister L., Mrs. L. He had an open round-trip ticket, which he used the outbound half of back in April. The return trip was never taken, obviously."

"That at least explains why we couldn't track the credit cards. But why did they let one show up under Evans' name?"

"Who knows?" Langly looked up to focus on the white mustache. "But, we need to talk inside. Frohike has some ideas as to how we should proceed."

Mulder had bent over his partner. "Let me guess. You and he take it from here."

Max smiled as he held the door for the rest of the group. He would certainly miss the excitement his stepson seemed to generate, whenever they were together. But, as the ache in his shoulders reminded him, not right away.

-o-0-o-

Androkiri Shop  
Akrotiri Town  
Santorini, Greece  
Wednesday, May 27, 1998  
12:34 pm

After a long discussion, Caroline had been persuaded to remain behind. However, the agents were not, at this juncture, alone. Three odd-looking shadows trailed along behind them as they approached the Androkiri store.

"I *still* think, that we three should go in as loud Americans. We can take Mulder, for protection." Frohike had defended this point with the others, but lost.

Scully sighed. "That would only work if they didn't know who we were. Mulder and I will go in, as ourselves, ask a few questions, keep them occupied while you three poke around back."

"Yes, Your Worship." The round-faced Gunman stared at his feet.

Scully rolled her eyes at her partner, who had lapsed into an uneasy silence. "Mulder?"

He bent over her. "I don't trust Petras."

She stopped in her tracks. "Mulder?"

Byers reached out to stop Langly from crashing into the dark-haired agent's back. "Mulder?"

The agent held up a long index finger. "A minute, guys." The three backed off to check on a nearby bakery. "He's not what he pretends to be. He was just too helpful, Scully." He watched as fires sparked and died in her green-blue eyes.

"Okay." She blew out a long breath. "More helpful than a monk should be? Monastic institutions have often been the repositories of rare and valuable books and art. In fact - "

He shook his head. "During the Middle Ages, I know. But that's exactly why I don't trust him. Why would a place with so little space hang onto that many fakes? Why not throw them out? What good are they?"

She crossed her arms. "They might be using them for comparison purposes when other frauds turn up."

He shoved his hands in his pockets. "They might. But why not just save photographs?"

Seeking to lighten the mood, she unclenched her arms, then tossed her head. "On a Linux box in his frigid cell?"

A lightning-quick grin crossed his face. "That's exactly what I'd expect in this technological hot-spot of the Mediterranean."

She tucked her hair behind her ear, then paced for a few steps. Resolved, she crossed her arms as she looked up at him. "Okay. Your instincts are good enough that I'll go with them, Mulder. Although we need more evidence before we could proceed against Petras legally."

He found a secret thrill shooting through him at her words. They were back to working together as a team. "Oh?"

She pointed in the general direction of the bakery. "Let's put the guys to some good use."

He found himself suppressing the urge to lick his lips. "The Doctor has a plan, methinks."

She cocked an eyebrow at him. "Only, no blue police boxes involved." She bent under his chin to whisper, "or black leather," before she headed back to the bakery.

-o-0-o-

Northern Precinct  
San Diego Police Department  
San Diego, California  
Wednesday, May 27, 1998  
8:23 am

"So, you're not planning on telling me what this is all about?" Donato quizzed Peterson, the uniformed officer who was just now pulling the black and white into the station garage.

"No. Jerry, it's a good thing, okay?"

The thick-chested detective looked at Sandra, then nodded. "Yeah. You keep saying that. But, I'm not up to handling surprises, regardless, on an hour or two of sleep."

"Not a problem."

As they slid out of the black and white, one of the mechanics called out, "Way to go, Jerry!"

Donato waved back uneasily. "I wonder what that's all about?"

Sandra trotted ahead of them toward the door to the station proper. "We'll found out soon enough."

There was a general burst of applause as they entered the station, then Donato found himself surrounded by his fellow officers, all of them offering hearty congratulations.

Johnson stepped out of his office, wading through the crowd to latch onto his arm. "We'll talk about this inside, Detective. Doctor Miller, this way." Once they were separated from the noise by the thick glass of his office door, the sergeant placed Jerry's gun and badge in his hand. "You'll be needing these."

Confusion distorting his features, Donato clipped on his weapon, then tucked the ID in his pocket. "Sir? Do you mind?"

Johnson held up both long hands. "You've been cleared of the charge relating to Evans' death."

Sandra crossed her arms. "Is this based on results from the Internal Affairs investigation?" Her puckered expression conveyed her sense of disbelief.

Wearing a genuine smile for the first time since the Wilton murder, Johnson nodded. "Yes. A witness has come forward who overheard Evans arguing with another man after you left, Jerry."

"Oh?" Donato looked from Johnson's relieved face to Sandra's puzzled one. "Sir?"

The sergeant was sliding a cassette into the tape recorder he kept on his desk. "Listen, both of you. I think you'll find this very interesting." He pressed the play button.

Donato frowned when he heard the voice. "Hey, that's the neighbor who yelled out the door!" At Johnson's wave, he fell silent.

"Jerry." Sandra laid a hand on his arm.

The white wheels of the recorder began rotating. "I didn't know what to make of it, really. I knew Evans hit the bottle on occasion, but he was always a quiet drunk, you know? Kept it inside. Whatever a man does in his own house is nobody's business but his own. That's how I was raised, anyway."

"Go on, Mister Luciano." The voice belonged to Gonzales.

"Well, here he is, drunk as a skunk, staggerin' around in his underwear, shoutin' about his retirement. Yeah, okay, I'm as worried about my pension as the next guy, but I don't spread it all over the neighborhood. A few mutual funds, an IRA, maybe, but - "

"So, Sir, what did you overhear?"

The three who were listening smiled at the impatience they heard in the Detective's tone.

"Well, first, Evans calls for this other cop. I remember seeing him around once or twice. Recent, you know? Like they hadn't worked together too long. The other cop, he always had this, this *look*, like he just lost a friend, and Evans, well, I could tell Evans was rubbing him up all the wrong ways. I said to my wife, I says, 'Gloria, he's gonna go through another one, you just watch.'"

Donato stared as his feet. "I didn't..."

Sandra just squeezed his hand.

"So, what did they argue about?" It was a different voice, one Jerry recognized as belonging to Patricia Marks, who was recently promoted from the South Precinct to Internal Affairs.

"Like I said, his pension. Kept calling him College Boy. Said he wanted to fix his face. Or something."

"He - " Jerry pointed to the black box.

Johnson held up a hand.

"That went on until the cops showed up. I was glad they did. The sad guy wasn't putting up much of a struggle with Evans. Not like the other guy."

"Other guy?" Both Gonzales and Marks exclaimed simultaneously.

"Sure, the one I thought you guys wanted to hear about. Gloria didn't want me to come forward to tell what I had heard."

"Just for the record, Gloria is your wife, Sir?" The voice was the contralto of Marks.

"Yeah. Yeah she is. A sweetheart, but a scardy cat. I kept tryin' to tell her it was obstruct, obfus, anyway, it was wrong of me not to come forward. I oughta give you the evidence you need to lock him up."

"Lock up whom?" The fatigue in her tone was obvious.

There was a long pause. "What? You didn't know about him?" A longer silence. "You thought the sad guy did it? You got it all wrong, if you do."

"Mister Luciano," Gonzales cautioned.

"Oh, man, I thought with all the stuff in the papers about having found the killer and all."

"Mister Luciano," Marks repeated. "Please, tell us about this other man."

"Well, he looked like a cop, too, so when the papers were going on about the cop you arrested, well, I said to Gloria, I says, 'See, they got him.' She was happy. So was I. I mean, I love her and all, but when she gets a bug in her hair, I mean to tell you..."

Jerry could tell from the sound that Gonzales' teeth were gritted in frustration. "Mister Luciano, you've done the right thing. Please, continue."

There was a creak of metal. "She didn't want me to come forward to testify, you see. She's got this brother, he's a gambler. Now, now, nothing bad or anything, a little too much on the ponies, a little too much for poker with the boys."

"Mister Luciano!" Gonzales was now clearly upset. "If you would just *tell* us about the other man!"

"Hey, hey, hold on, I'm gettin' there. Gloria always tells me I ramble. Anyway, after the other cop, the sad guy, leaves, this other man shows up. Come to think of it, he was dressed too good to be a cop. Musta been a lawyer. Good suit. Tall, grey hair. Talked real soft, at least at first. Then they're shoutin', then wrestlin', just like with the sad guy. Only the suit, he, he can hold his own. Not like the sad guy."

"Okay, Mister Luciano, so they were fighting. Then what happened?" Marks was even more out of patience than Gonzales.

"Well, I hadn't been spyin' up til I heard this crack. I'd been listenin' at the window. Gloria, she's, she's squeamish. From Ohio. Anyway. I'm gettin' there! Keep your shirt on. Sounded bad. Like a bone breakin'. So, I peek out through the curtains, only the suit is carryin' old Evans over his shoulder, like a sack a' potatoes or sompin'. Evans is all limp."

"And?" Gonzales had obviously given up hope on a quick summation.

"Well, the suit carries him inside the house. I think, good, he's gonna splash some water in his face, call an ambulance, something. Anyway, not my business, not anymore. It's inside. Like I said earlier."

They heard the click of high heels on the concrete floor. "How much time passed between visits, Mister Luciano?"

"How long? About two hours. The sad guy drove off. I got through CNN once, then fell asleep. The clock said 7:43 when I woke up and heard the guy, the suit, drive up."

"Mister Luciano, was the volume up on the television during the conversations you overheard?" Gonzales was excited, but contained.

"Nah. Had it down for both. Why watch the tube when there's the real thing? Now, now Gloria, she would just have turned the box up, drowned out the whole thing. But, not me. Somebody has to keep an eye on the neighborhood."

They heard the sound of a throat clearing, by the timbre, Gonzales. "Mister Luciano, do you think you could recognize the man if you saw him again?"

"Recognize? Sure thing."

"Would you be able to work with a police artist to put together a composite sketch?" It was Marks who asked.

"Sure. Yeah."

Johnson stopped the tape. "Well, Jerry, after this, we knew you were in the clear. I'm certain Doctor Miller can testify that you were with her at all times between when you left Evans and when you received the call about his death."

Donato laughed. "Oh, yes."

Sandra nodded. "And, if you want to check further, we were at Kung Food. We had reservations and paid with a credit card." She dug in her pocket to wave a slip of paper. "I recovered this after our last meeting." She eyed Johnson significantly. "Both of which will verify the times."

"Sir!" Peterson pushed his way into the office to claim their attentions. "They just brought in another one!"

"Another one what?" The African-American Sergeant's voice was gruff.

"One of those environmentalists who has been picketing Scripps. He had handcuffed himself to the bio-lab doors, claiming he would starve himself until the 'Evil work of Wilton and Miller was stopped.'"

"Evil work?" Sandra wondered. "What on earth?"

"Let's go," Johnson commanded. "Doctor Miller, there's a room where you can wait. It's behind one-way glass, so you can see and hear everything, but not be seen or heard yourself. With luck, we may be able to wrap up two cases today."

-o-0-o-

Androkiri Shop  
Akrotiri Town  
Santorini, Greece  
Wednesday, May 27, 1998  
12:48 pm

Once the four were huddled around her, Scully looked each of the Gunmen in the eye. "You up for a little undercover work, Gentlemen?"

Frohike waggled his eyebrows, but kept silent at a glare from Mulder.

"We're instituting a change to our plans. Mulder and I aren't going to question, we're going to accuse. We'd like you to follow whoever emerges first and see where they go."

Byers nodded solemnly. "Agent Mulder? Do you have any ideas about this?"

He spread his hands. "I'm with her. We're not certain whom we can trust on this island."

She nodded. "The head of police here is either unprepared to, incapable of, or unwilling to cooperate fully with us. Mulder has some reservations about an art expert we consulted here on the island. Max and Caroline are too well-known to be involved. That leaves you three."

Frohike stuck his chest out. "Ready and able, Agent Scully."

Langly nodded. "Glad to see things are back to normal."

"What if there is more than one of them?" Byers frowned.

"We split up." Langly held up a hand. "And I have just the thing to keep us in contact." He loped back to their rented van, returning with five black wristbands. "These have a range of two miles or so." He tapped the lozenge-shaped watch face. "It's just a glue-on, but unless we're stopped, no one will know."

"Hey, where's the TV screen?" The dark-haired agent was twiddling a knob on the left side of the dial.

"Mulder," Langly scolded, "this isn't to NASA spec. All you need to know is that, going clockwise around the face, the six bevels are for the other units. Yours is number four, the hour you see the watch set to. I've distributed the units in alphabetical order, so the knob beside the one calls unit number one, Byers' unit. The bevels beside one, two, three, and five activate the send/receive for the corresponding unit, and the one beside nine sends to all. Okay?"

A collective nod. As Mulder and Scully stepped away, he bent over her. "So, these loud accusations?"

"That's your department. I can't think of everything on the fly."

He touched her back just before they headed into the Androkiri shop. Once inside, Scully watched her partner begin pacing the short aisles, taking deeper and deeper breaths. As he perambulated, the locals began slipping quietly away. At the same time, the store's proprietors started gathering behind the counter. First was the woman who had spoken to them at the police station, although she gave no sign that she recognized them. Then a middle-aged man Scully assumed was her brother materialized. When a grey-haired man, his beard bushier than Petras' but only about half the length, appeared to take the space behind the woman, Mulder began raging.

"Why are you people endangering my sister?"

The white-haired senior grasped both of his children's shoulders, then stepped around to face the agent. "I don't know what you mean, Sir." He pointed to the two behind the counter. "Family is very important to me."

Mulder ran his hands through his hair several times, then, his eyes as wild as his bangs, he began shouting. "My sister in San Francisco has been stalked by a man the police believe has ties back to this island, and to Akrotiri in specific!"

Scully cocked an eyebrow at this. She hadn't expected her partner to weave a story so close to the truth. But there was no reaction from the three locals.

"You don't understand!" The dark-haired agent was now waving his arms. "She's been attacked. She's in the hospital."

She blanched, surprised he was working in the details of her own stay on the island.

The bearded man moved behind his offspring to clasp their shoulders once more. "I could not abide the loss of either one of my children. You are the FBI agents from America, yes?"

Mulder nodded, searching for some sign of recognition from the woman, but her face remained impassive.

"Then we shall call you." Androkiri Senior pulled both children close. "There are people we need to speak to about these accusations."

Backs straight, the three disappeared into the rear of the store.

Scully walked up beside her partner to touch his arm. "You seem to have struck a nerve. We need to alert Caroline and Max, just to be on the safe side."

His eyes were still on the open door. "Yeah." He raised his fist to his lips.

She rested her hand on his back, hoping to calm him after the display of emotions he had called out of himself.

-o-0-o-

Interrogation Room  
Northern Precinct  
San Diego Police Department  
San Diego, California  
Wednesday, May 27, 1998  
9:03 am

Sandra paced in the long, narrow room, watching as the interrogation proceeded. The investigative team had been augmented by Phil Nichols, whom Jerry Donato had called. The ASAC was now perched on a stool in the corner. The suspect, one Spotted Owl Moonray, as he identified himself, had spent a good half an hour raving about the evils of the medical community. It had taken Sandra less than a minute to identify him as the man who had called her 'Killer Miller' back at the university. She had passed a note to a policewoman, who had carried it in for Donato to read. She noted that Jerry's interrogation seemed to have doubled in intensity after he had scanned the words on the sheet, balled the paper up, then shoved it in his pocket.

Moonray turned to point to the agent in the corner. "Who is he? I've seen you and all your friends while you were driving around downtown in those pollution machines you call police cars. At least Killer Miller uses a bike."

Johnson pursed his lips. "Is that a threat, Mister... Moonray?" He leaned across the table. "If it is, I want you to know you have a long list of priors. We can put you away for quite some time."

"Yeah, right." The bearded man snorted, then looked back at Nichols. "Who are you? I've got a right to know my accusers."

After a glance at the agent, Johnson shook his head, but Nichols rose to approach the table.

"Yes, you do. I'm ASAC Phillip Nichols, FBI."

The suspect brightened visibly. "Oh, Bureau, hunh? I didn't know I attracted that kind of attention. Spinney warned me - "

"Murder attracts everyone's attention, Sir." Gonzales leaned over the table.

Nichols held up his hand. "You were saying? Who is this Spinney?"

A furtive smile. "Doug Spinney. One of the best. He died a few years ago protecting old-growth forests from logging."

Sandra watched Nichols frown, as if the case were sparking some old memory. She'd have to ask him about it later.

Jerry bent down into the bearded man's face. "Tell us how you killed Tom Wilton."

Sandra arched a brow at the surprised glances from the other officers present. Apparently, Donato either wasn't supposed to take a lead in the questioning, or he was approaching the witness far too abruptly for procedural tastes. She, however, had been fidgeting with impatience at the lack of progress.

But Moonray was laughing out loud. "Kill? Is this like 'when did you stop beating your wife?'" He shook his head. "I got nothing to do with his death. Although, it was worth the good scare he had when we rigged the tunnel with those microphones."

Sandra's fists clenched.

"So, you *did* sabotage the tunnel?" The Latino detective glared.

The witness shook his head. "Not sabotage. We installed a radio-controlled remote microphone by the sensors, then hid up on the roof. We wanted to play with his head a bit. Once the Killer pulled him out of there, we yanked our stuff out, too."

Gonzales shook his head. "But you left your climbing tackle behind. Or, did you forget that?"

Moonray smiled, revealing twisted yellow teeth. "Forget? Nah. We wanted to play with that brain the Killer's so proud of."

Donato leaned into the bearded man's face. "We took partial prints off that rope. If yours match, it's Murder One. I'll push the prosecutor to ask for the death penalty."

Now their witness laughed out loud. "Ooh, that scares me. I went to law school, little man. You have *nothing* that links me directly to Wilton's death. Nothing."

Johnson crossed his arms. "But I still don't understand why you went to all this trouble. Why wasn't protest good enough?"

The activist licked his lips. "Oh, that wasn't getting us anywhere. They deserved to suffer for their good fortune. Sitting fat and happy while animals suffered and died to pay for their leisure."

At that, Sandra had had enough. She burst out of the observation room, then roared as she flung wide the door to join the interrogation. "What the blazing Hades are you talking about! We never took any money from that company! And now Tom's dead because of you!" She had Moonray flung supine across the table before the others could react.

The bearded man's limbs were flailing. "Hey! Get her off me! I know my rights! Help! Police Brutality! Help!"

The room exploded. Johnson began shouting instructions to the other officers in the room. Gonzales attempted to slide the witness table out from under Moonray, hoping that by sending the pair crashing to the floor, they could break Sandra's grip.

Jerry locked his arms around the professor's waist to pull her off the witness. "Sandra! Don't do this! Let us handle it!"

The officers froze at the loud crack as the table yielded under the combined weight of the three. For a moment, all was silent until the chestnut-haired woman pulled herself free to shake Moonray. "These officers have to obey the law when it comes to handling witnesses, but I don't! In the Kibbutz, I learned eye for eye! You killed my friend! You deserve to suffer a little of what he did!"

Breaking away, the bearded man ran to the far corner of the room, where he collapsed into a crouch. "What! I didn't kill him! How do they know *you* didn't kill him in a jealous rage!" He shook a finger at her. "I saw the two of you together, always happy and laughing. You were fooling around with each other, weren't you?"

She hauled him to his feet. "You were *spying* on us? For how long? What did you do, hide in the bushes?"

He pushed at her shoulders. "What would you know of that? I saw a lot that I wasn't supposed to see."

Johnson peered around Sandra's arm. "What did you see? Tell us! If you know anything, it may clear you of a murder charge."

At Jerry's insistent tugging on her waist, Sandra released the witness. "Or convict you out of your own mouth."

"Sandra!" Donato tightened his grip. "You could be charged with obstruction of justice here."

She looked down at him. "We'll see about that." Her alto was calm and even, so they exchanged small smiles.

Moonray had edged away from the chestnut-haired woman. "Yes, I saw someone leave Wilton's house when we drove past there."

Johnson blocked Sandra's view of the witness. "You went there? After the accident?"

The bearded man nodded. "Yeah. We wanted to gloat, but that Nixon kid wouldn't let us come in. We argued for a while outside the house, which is when I saw her leave. He went in and came out, all down and mopey."

"Who?" Gonzales frowned. "Who left?"

"Dunno who she is, exactly. She's a little woman with white hair. I've seen her come and go out of the Physics building."

Sandra crossed her arms. "The only woman I know who meets that description is Elizabeth Williams. Elizabeth?" She frowned.

Donato turned to the professor. "What reason would Elizabeth Williams have for visiting Tom Wilton?"

The chestnut-haired woman flopped into one of the wooden chairs. "I wish I knew. Wait!" She began prowling the periphery of the interrogation room. "That must be it! Judy and Elizabeth both painted." She pounced on Donato. "You've been to the Williams home. You must have seen some of her works."

The thick-chested detective nodded. "You think there was some sort of rivalry between them? But how would that affect how she felt about Tom?"

Sandra blanched. "It was the joint exhibition. Judy and Elizabeth rented a hall, an expensive one, to display their works together. I remember Judy telling me that Elizabeth's pieces didn't do as well as hers. I wonder..."

Donato and Gonzales exchanged a glance. "Then I think it's she we need to interview next." Jerry pointed to the door.

Johnson nodded his approval as he took Moonray by the arm.

-o-0-o-

Androkiri Shop  
Akrotiri Town  
Santorini, Greece  
Wednesday, May 27, 1998  
12:52 pm

Scully reached down to grasp her partner's wrist, only to be surprised to feel him still shaking. "Mulder, it's okay."

He closed his eyes momentarily. "Yeah. Don't volunteer me for this performance art stuff again anytime soon, Doctor."

"I won't." She pressed her shoulder against his arm. "Sam will be all right. She has your brains and wits."

She felt his reply on her cheek. "It wasn't Sam I was concerned about, Scully."

She blanched, then slid away to look up into his eyes. "I suppose I should just get used to you worrying about me, even when I don't need it."

"Yeah." He pressed his hand into her back. "That would be a start."

She closed her eyes for a moment. "As long as you know it works both ways."

He tossed her a full grin. "Oh, yeah."

His wrist crackled. "G-man!" It was Frohike, attempting to whisper. "We have them. They're leaving together. Head back to the van."

With a nod, Scully followed her partner out.

-o-0-o-

Northern Precinct  
San Diego Police Department  
San Diego, California  
Wednesday, May 27, 1998  
9:21 am

"Well, you certainly scared them," Jerry Donato guided Sandra Miller to his police car.

She shrugged, but said nothing.

As he rested a hand on her back while he unlocked the passenger door, he realized she was still trembling slightly. That surprised him. She had been the picture of intensity as she had forced first, himself, then, Richard Gonzales, and, finally, Martin Johnson, to acquiesce in her wish to accompany them to this, with luck, final interview.

Her arms were still crossed as he slid into the driver's seat. "What?" She met his dark eyes.

He grinned. "If you ever want a job on the Force, just let me know. You'd set anybody straight."

"Sorry." She rubbed her face with both hands. "I've just learned I need to be as forceful as possible to make myself clear and heard. Men, regardless of their education, can be remarkably deaf when they so choose."

"Yeah." They drove on in silence, until, without taking his hands off the steering wheel, he lifted one finger to point at the next street. "This is it. Get ready."

"Yes. I see the lights in the studio. Elizabeth must still be home."

-o-0-o-

Akrotiri Town  
Santorini, Greece  
Wednesday, May 27, 1998  
1:14 pm

The Gunmen and the Agents converged on the van from opposite directions.

"They're headed east!" Frohike unlocked the driver's door.

Once the five were settled, Mulder stumbled up behind him. "Is this east as in along a street, or out of the city?"

Byers nodded. "We heard them talking. Something about a site on the Bay."

"Then it's Exomitis, as we thought." Scully raised her voice to be heard from the back seat.

Langly adjusted his glasses, which had been knocked askew in the hustle. "Okay, I'm on it." He flipped open a laptop, then, after a few keyclicks, announced, "take a left through the alley coming up."

"Got it," Frohike rejoined.

Mulder stared over the longhaired Gunman's shoulder. "What is this?"

"Soviet technology, for sale to whomever will pay, no questions asked." Byers spoke from the front passenger side. "We found out about it through one of those European groups we made contact with for you." He hung onto his seat cushion as the tires squealed. "Commercial maps of the Med aren't good enough. Due to certain minor conflagrations they used to be involved in, our former enemies mapped the Cyclades to a decimeter, so we can follow the streets exact-"

"Okay, two blocks down this street, the right through the next alley. Sorry." Langly apologized without lifting his nose from the flat screen.

"There!" The bearded Gunman pointed.

Frohike gunned the engine. "You have a lock on them yet, Mister Clean?"

Mulder exchanged a glance with Scully, who shrugged. "Byers? What's he saying?"

The bearded Gunman dropped open the glove compartment to reveal a silver box, a single green light blinking in the center. "Of course we do." He twisted around to face the auburn-haired agent. "We installed a homing device on their station wagon before we headed back to the van."

"That's one of mine." Langly grinned. "I built a GPS receiver into the unit. And not just an off-the-shelf model."

Scully chuckled, bringing several pairs of eyes around to her face. "Are you sure he's not Bureau material, Mulder?"

The dark-haired agent shook his head. "He'd have to lower his standards."

Langly tapped his screen. "Okay, the differential GPS overlay is coming in. They're still moving at a high velocity."

He continued issuing occasional updates, while the rest remained silent so Frohike could negotiate the unfamiliar streets.

Mulder took the opportunity to curl in the back seat beside his partner. "You okay?" His hazel gaze, full of warmth and concern, fell on her face.

Scully nodded. "We'll all be."

"Hang on, they've turned north and started to climb." The blond Gunman was jabbing the glass in his excitement.

"They've headed to Illias." She looked up at her partner. "You were right, Mulder."

He smirked. "Reputation, Scully."

Once the van had wound up the mountain road, almost to the Monastery, Byers began fishing in one of their equipment boxes behind his seat. "Yeah, okay, this should do." He clapped a helmet with thick goggles over his head. "Pull behind that stand of trees." He pointed.

Frohike complied, then killed the engine.

As the wait lengthened, Mulder began to fidget. "What's going on? Why are we sitting here?" His answer came in a churn of gravel as the battered station wagon shot by them.

"Okay." Byers rotated a lens, then shifted it back to its original position. "There are four heat sources in the vehicle. They've picked up a passenger."

Mulder shook Frohike by the shoulder. "What are we waiting for?"

The round-faced Gunman held up a hand. "To make certain there's not another vehicle with them. They can only go down from here." After a few moments of silence, he turned over the engine. "We need to stay covert, G-man. Surprise is our only weapon. Hang on."

The dark-haired agent found himself thrown against the forward passenger bench. "Yeah, right." He had his teeth gritted.

"They're picking up speed as they descend." Langly had resumed his hunch over the screen.

"Back to Exomitis." Scully gripped the seat.

"I think so, Most Radiant One." Frohike's hands flew over the steering wheel.

-o-0-o-

Williams Residence  
San Diego, California  
Wednesday, May 27, 1998  
9:42 am

Jerry was at the brunette professor's side as they worked their way through the rose garden to approach an enclosed room on the north side of the house. "I'll be right outside the window."

Still agitated, she looked down at him. "You'll be able to hear everything?"

He shrugged. "Of course." He adjusted the volume on his earpiece. "Maria and I pulled in several collars like this. If she tries to break away, we have both ends of the street closed off."

Another unconvinced glance. "I'll maneuver her close to the bay window there, just to be certain."

After they parted, he crept to the sill. There was a gap in the curtains through which he could espy most of the room. He strained forward as he heard Sandra's knock. When Elizabeth was out of the room momentarily, he took the cover of silence to chamber a round, reminding himself to leave the safety off, for once.

"Yes?" Elizabeth set down her easel to approach the rear door. "Sandra? What brings you here?"

Sandra began prowling along the unframed canvases, edging her way along the wall to the window. "I wanted to check on how John was coming. The hospital said there was no change in his condition. What have you seen?"

Jerry grinned as she leaned against the wall. The professor had concocted the most reasonable of prevarications, so he knew they, too, would make a good team together.

Elizabeth crossed her arms, squaring her shoulders as she stood. "Oh, I haven't seen much. He's squeezed my hand on occasion, but I can't tell whether he's really aware of me or if it's something autonomic. I needed to take a break here." She waved to the half-finished canvas.

Donato strained to see it, but, since the surface was nearly at right angles to his view, he could only make out a blob of blue.

Sandra nodded as she looked it over. "A quiet resting place. How appropriate. I only hope that's where Tom is."

The thick-chested detective reached unconsciously for his weapon when he saw the white-haired woman's fists clench.

The professor plunged on ahead. "There were things the police couldn't figure out about the murder, you know."

"Oh?" Elizabeth sank into the chair. "Such as?"

Sandra was by the window again. "Such as, how someone could steal the hard drives out of Tom's machine while he was still alive, or without disturbing the body, if he were already dead."

The white-haired woman shook her head. "Such small things. John would always say, 'the devil is in the details,' when he would attempt to explain why he needed to work late on yet another paper. Sometimes he missed what was important." She lifted her chin defiantly. "As do you, Professor Miller."

"Oh?" Sandra tossed her head. "What am I missing? I was there with Jeanette and the police as they worked over Tom's study. Whoever killed him didn't leave any fingerprints." She stared pointedly at the latex gloves on the older woman's hands.

"Ah, but some of us must keep up appearances, you know, even at my age," Elizabeth lilted. "I didn't have the luxury you have, Sandra, of letting myself go. A professor's wife must always look her best."

The chestnut-haired woman shrugged. "Life's not always fair. But times have changed for the better."

Elizabeth smiled. "Have they, really? Look at Hillary Clinton, if you must. All those brains, forced to 'stand by her man' through the biggest embarrassment a First Lady has endured yet."

Sandra tossed her hair back over one shoulder. "But she's running for the Senate."

"And if she makes it, she'll only hear that she won the seat because her husband was the President. For women, you see, the world hasn't changed all that much. Look at you, Sandra, how far do you think you will go now that Tom is dead? Whom do you think was really respected in the Department, yourself or he?"

Sandra stalked over to her. "I've earned my own way, Elizabeth. I don't need to recite my CV to you."

A tight grimace. "Oh, I think you should, Sandra. The name Wilton appears on every paper where Miller does. Now, who do you think will earn the credit for the research when the day is done? Look at Lise Meitner. She was treated as Otto Hahn's assistant by the Nobel Committee, who couldn't see awarding its prize to another woman working in radioactivity. It was Tom who was discussed as a replacement Department Head, not yourself."

From outside the house, Donato wondered how Sandra had let the interview get so far off-track as this. He might be forced to step in after all.

The brunette professor shook her head. "Elizabeth, that's an interesting history lesson. But what does it have to do with me? This is almost the Twenty-First Century."

A tinkling laugh. "Human nature doesn't change, my dear. I know if my husband were spending his time with a beautiful colleague, I might be worried."

"Judy had *nothing* to be concerned for, if that's what you mean. Tom was faithful to her, body and soul."

"But not in mind." The older woman minced to the window. "That's what irked her the most, you see, that Tom stopped talking about your work together once you two got that tunnel built. She *liked* hearing about his research, even if she didn't understand it."

Sandra towered over Elizabeth. "When did she tell you this? You're making all this up!"

"No, I'm not." The white-haired woman glared back fiercely. "You were never around when she was painting. She poured herself into those works, but you two only thought of them as a pleasant little diversion."

"That's not true!" It was Sandra's fists that were clenched. "Art is *never* a diversion! Art is a necessity of life!"

"Perhaps for some. It certainly is for me. But for Judy, it was only a way to make more money. No wonder she kept track of it so precisely."

"She?" Sandra shook her head again. "Judy really wasn't good at math. She couldn't fathom the simplest equation."

"Oh, she could add well enough. Her records on the computer said as much."

Sandra went still. "Records on the computer? What are you talking about, Elizabeth?"

The white-haired woman chuckled. "Oh, the ones on Tom's computer, of course. You think I hadn't seen those? Judy showed them to me once while I was visiting. She had them in a hidden file on her hard drive. All her expenses were in there, including the rental of the hall for our exhibition. The *real* rental, not what she told John. As if John would notice when he was being lied to by someone as attractive as - "

"Elizabeth, what are you saying?"

Donato leaned a bit further into the room.

"Oh, not what you think I am. Judy was as faithful to Tom as he was to her. But John always had a bit of a roving eye. He thought it was my fault we never had children. Well, had he been home more often, it might have been possible. He may have them, for all I know. But, John willingly paid whatever he thought would assuage his guilty conscience. If that meant keeping me in art supplies and out of his hair, well, he would. But, I found out, upon closer examination if those records, that Judy had over-stated the costs of that exhibition hall."

Sandra walked over to her. "But, Elizabeth, how did you get a closer look at Judy's records? You were never in the house, as far as I know."

"No." Elizabeth shook her head. "Not as far as you know. Tom was so helpful, finding those hidden files like I asked. But, people, even deaf people, generally are." Her tone was studied, casual, as she reached behind her into a drawer. "Especially when they have a gun on them." She pointed the service revolver at Sandra, who held up both hands, then began backing away.

"Elizabeth, what are you doing?"

"What do you think I'm doing, Professor? Use those brains of yours. Cleaning up loose ends. I'm not stupid. I knew someone would come around asking questions eventually. I didn't expect it to be you, Sandra, but I don't mind that it is. You need to be set down a notch."

"So, you're going to kill me, like you killed Tom?"

"Of course I am. It's time to finish what I started in your office. Then I disappear. Who would suspect the perfect little professor's wife?"

"Okay, Mrs. Williams, that's enough!" Jerry Donato stood to aim his weapon in through the window. "You're under arrest for the murder of Tom - "

Elizabeth fired two shots at Jerry, then ran for the front door.

As Donato pulled himself into the room, Sandra tackled the slight woman from behind, sending the revolver spinning across the oak floorboards.

Jerry had one cuff on the arm reaching for the gun as he began Mirandizing Elizabeth Williams.

Sandra released the older woman, then shoved the revolver further away with her foot. "You'll need this for evidence, right?"

"Yeah." Donato helped Elizabeth to her feet. "I think I owe your husband an apology. I hope he wakes up so I can give it to him. Let's go."

As the three emerged together into the sunshine, police cruisers converged from both sides of the street.

-o-0-o-

Akrotiri Town  
Santorini, Greece  
Wednesday, May 27, 1998  
1:54 pm

Scully attempted to peer out the darkened windows of the van. "If we know they're headed to Exomitis, do we have any idea exactly where they'd be going, or do we simply have to rely on following them?"

The bearded Gunman looked over. "Well, we'd been working on that. There was another group in Greece that was very helpful in supplying land ownership records for Santorini. How they're getting them, even *we* couldn't figure out." He dug in the pack by his seat to pass her a satellite image. "Once we knew where the Androkiris owned land, we spent a little money in France to buy SPOT imagery of their holdings. That one circled shows evidence of having been worked recently." Since they had just hit a rut in the road, his attempt to point succeeded only in knocking the image out of Scully's hand, then onto Mulder's leg. "Sorry."

The dark-haired agent pulled the sheet away from his partner to wave it out of her arm's reach, before she, with a frustrated grunt, reached across his lap to tug it free.

She ignored his smirk as she settled down to peer at the image. "These violet blotches and green squares?"

"Exactly." Langly lifted his face from the computer screen long enough to nod. "We had been cross-correlating the imagery against properties owned by the same real estate group Evans had been involved in. Those were part of them."

Mulder cocked an eyebrow at the long-haired Gunman. "Why didn't you show us this earlier?"

Byers' fingers dug into the back cushion as he pulled himself around to face them. "Because it was only this morning that we knew Exomitis was significant. We culled the rest once we saw your note."

"That's not important," Scully interceded. "Can we get there before they do?"

"Working on it." Langly was stroking the rollerball in the mouse pad. "Yeah, we can." He proceeded to rattle off a series of directions to Frohike, who grunted, then spun the van sharply to the left.

"Let's hope the Russkies knew their stuff." The rest of the round-faced Gunman's comments were lost as he muttered under his breath.

-o-0-o-

Exomitis Cape  
Santorini, Greece  
Wednesday, May 27, 1998  
2:44 pm

Scully looked over as Mulder touched her back, before he dropped behind the rocks of the top of a jagged hill. "If the French are right about this, the excavation should be over there." She pointed.

"I *just* don't want to see any talking stags right now." Mulder smirked.

"Not a problem." She sent him a quick twitch of her cheek. "There aren't any wolves on Santorini."

"Who says we're still on Santorini, Scully?" They exchanged a quick grin before a loud noise had them both ducking their heads.

"You can't destroy this!" The shout came from below, Scully quickly recognizing the voice as belonging to the helpful monk they had interviewed earlier.

"Ah, it *was* real." Mulder had clenched his teeth.

"No, it can't be uncovered. If our work is exposed, we'd lose everything!" The voice belonged to Androkiri Senior.

"Or, maybe not." The auburn-haired pathologist shook her head.

"There's only one way to find out." The dark-haired agent began slithering forward, but stopped when Scully grabbed his arm.

"Remember what happened the last time you did that." She waggled her SIG for emphasis. "Besides, they'll be distracted enough in a few minutes."

"This is an archaeological treasure!" Petras was shouting in his frustration.

"You fool! It's a fake! My family has been preparing this for decades!" The voice belonged to the older Androkiri.

The remainder of their words were lost in scuffles of feet and the thumps of exchanged blows, then in the shouts in Greek of the son and daughter.

"Okay." Mulder had his lips on his wrist."You ready, guys?"

"Yes, we are." The voice that emerged, slightly tinny, belonged to Byers.

"Go!"

The agents scrambled over the top of the hill, but their appearance had gone completely unnoticed. A flare had shot into the air from the far side of the valley, setting the conspirators below shouting and pointing. By the time the four were aware of the partners' presence, Mulder and Scully had their weapons leveled.

"Federal Agents! We're armed!" Scully's tucked her chin so her voice sounded as if she were much larger than she actually was. She forced down an incongruous chuckle when she realized how little her title meant here on the island.

"I think we've reached the end of this charade." Mulder waved his SIG.

"I agree!" A revolver appeared from behind Petras's back.

"Drop it!" Scully was shifting to aim at him.

"Let me introduce myself." The monk pointed the weapon at the Androkiris. He took a few steps back to form a loose triangle with the agents. "I work for the Ministry of Culture in Athens. We noticed a slow, but even stream of Minoan-styled pottery coming in from Santorini several years back. Most of it was obviously fake, but some of it was very high-quality work, if modern. What puzzled us were a few pieces, less than a half a dozen, that we couldn't prove were frauds. So, I was placed undercover here. When you stopped by with your step-father - "

"Halt!" Scully was focused on the junior Androkiri, who had attempted to break away from his huddle with his family while their attention was drawn elsewhere.

Mulder used the muzzle of his gun to wave the man back beside his father and sister. "Are we to assume you have counterparts on the other islands of the Cyclades? Delos, Naxos, and the like?"

"I'd rather not comment." The non-monk never took his gaze off the Androkiris.

"What's going to happen to us?" The Androkiri sister was sobbing as she clutched her brother's arm.

"We shall see." Scully found she could summon no sympathy for the distraught woman.

Petras stalked over to the three. "You'll be taken to the local police, but I'll have other agents from Culture here within two hours."

Once the three were securely tied with rope stored in the back of the Androkiri's station wagon, Scully turned to her partner. "I want to check out this site."

"You're not the only one." He grinned down at her.

"You had back-up?" The non-monk was still holding his aim on the three.

"Yes." Mulder raised his wrist to his face. Once the Gunmen had emerged, he pointed. "They have secure communications, if you want to call Athens from here."

"Ah. Good." Petras waved at the cave. "Just don't touch anything, all right?"

The pair nodded before they entered.

-o-0-o-

Exomitis Cape  
Santorini, Greece  
Wednesday, May 27, 1998  
3:12 pm

"No labyrinth, Mulder." Scully ducked rather than hurtle head-first into a support beam.

After crawling under the same barrier, the dark-haired agent tossed her a grin. "I think once is enough, Scully." The interior was sparely lit, but gave the appearance of an archaeological excavation. There were tables with painted pot shards, even a few damaged figurines. Along the far wall, two square shafts pointed into the blackness.

"I think I see what Petras meant." She turned over one of the statuettes. "There's just enough uncertainty here to fool even the best expert."

Mulder nodded. "I certainly would be." After a glance around, he stepped in front of her. "I guess the operative question would be, if this is all a fake, then where are the purported artifacts being manufactured? Somewhere down here, or in one of the shops on your little list?"

"I don't know." Scully fell silent as she moved around the space. "The interior here looks completely undisturbed. I'll bet the answer lies through one of those shafts there." She bent down to peer into one. "I can tell you that you won't fit, Mulder. These are barely a foot high, and less than two feet wide."

"But, I would." Frohike was in the doorway. "Petras is driving the Androkiris back to Thira in their own station wagon." He waved over his shoulder.

"Is that wise?" Scully walked over to him.

A shrug. "He didn't seem to have a problem with it. The father's tied up in the back, the kids are lashed into their seats. He seems rather inventive for a government type." The little man bowed his head. "Present company excepted, of course." He held up two flashlights by way of apology. "I thought you might need these."

Scully pointed toward the shafts. "Which would you like?"

Frohike smiled beatifically. "Whichever one you're in, my dear."

She plucked one black lamp from his hand before she stalked away from him. "I'll take the left, you take the right."

"Hey, don't I get a say in this?" Mulder pouted.

"No!" The Gunman and Agent responded together.

He hunched to stare into the left shaft. "I don't like the thought of either of you going in there." He glared at his partner. "Especially you, Scully."

They held each other's gaze for a long moment, then she grasped his wrist placatingly. "That's why we have these, Mulder."

The round-faced Gunman looked from one to the other. "You two okay with this?"

With a sigh, the dark-haired agent stepped back. "Yeah, I guess."

As Scully pulled herself into the opening she had chosen, she glanced back over her shoulder to see he had already begun pacing.

-o-0-o-

Northern Precinct  
San Diego Police Department  
San Diego, California  
Wednesday, May 27, 1998  
10:27 am

Sandra Miller stalked over as Whittington entered the precinct room. "So, it's you. We wondered when her lawyer would show up."

He bowed his grey head with precision. "You say that as if you're surprised to see me. Am I not an officer of the court?"

Johnson stepped out of his office. "Yes, Sir, you certainly are. Detective Donato will show you to your client." He waved at the thick-chested man.

Jerry held the door for the lawyer. "It seems I owe Doctor Williams an apology."

Whittington glared down at him. "You most certainly do. As you will his wife, I'm sure."

Gonzales fell in step beside Sandra, who had been following the two men. "Oh, I don't think so. Your client was extremely helpful."

"Indeed. Elizabeth can be most accommodating when she wishes to." He waited while Donato let him into the interrogation room.

Elizabeth Williams ran over to the lawyer. "Charles! I'm so glad you're here! What can you do to get me out of this?"

He patted her back for a moment, then guided her back into the chair. "What did you say, my dear?"

She shook her head. "Nothing, really."

Donato crossed his arms. "She confessed to the killing of Tom Wilton."

Whittington frowned. "An admission procured while under duress, no doubt."

Jerry recounted the conversation between Elizabeth and Sandra, the chestnut-haired professor nodding her assent at specific points. When he stopped, Whittington began rubbing his face. "Well, that certainly puts a whole new light on the matter." He disentangled himself from the white-haired woman's grasp. "I suggest you get yourself a new attorney, Madam."

"Charles! You can't leave me! You can't! You promised!"

He had stalked out the door, only to be blocked by Sandra Miller. "I believe your business here is not concluded, Sir. I knew I was right not to trust you, now or ever."

Whittington threw back his head and roared with laughter. "And what, pray tell, could you possibly accuse me of now, Professor?"

"Just the murder of Michael Evans." Donato was standing behind him.

The grey-haired lawyer snorted. "Your evidence?"

"The account of an eyewitness who saw you with the deceased officer at the moment of his collapse." Gonzales lifted the police artist's rendering up to mirror Whittington's face. "Once it was done, we all recognized you immediately."

"I'll see your doodler and trump you both, gentlemen, and you, Doctor Miller." He waved expansively, a gesture Sandra expected he used often in the courtroom. "Have you bothered to check the 911 tape where Officer Evans' debility was reported?" He looked at the three confused faces. "No, I thought not. Would a murderer place the emergency phone call to obtain aid for his victim? I should think not." He strode down the hall, sweeping the others along in his wake. "Let me tell you how Michael Evans died, and you tell me if I have it right. There were excessive levels of testosterone found in his body after exhumation, were there not?"

"But, how did you know," Gonzales blurted out, before a glance from Donato silenced him.

Whittington looked back over his shoulder. "Yes, I thought so. That little tete-a-tete we had with that exceptionally helpful FBI agent was what I needed to conclude a small internal investigation I was conducting. The older fellow, Nichols, was it?" He glanced back at Sandra, who nodded. "Agent Nichols showed me papers that indicated land deals were being run through my firm, deals which resulted directly in real estate fraud. I had suspected a younger colleague, one Gary Toloso. A fine fellow, from a good school, but with a touch too much larceny in his soul and a shade too little agility in his wits to succeed in our profession. His wife, you see, is a nurse, who would know about testosterone poisoning. I had a private detective following up on things from the Mediterranean side, but I haven't been able to contact him for several weeks now."

Donato glared at the older man. "So, why did you run when the Bureau presented you with evidence? What do you have to hide?"

Whittington rounded on Jerry, using his far superior height in an attempt to cow the thick-chested man. "Detective Donato, you are more stupid than a Doberman with an old shoe. If I had anything to hide, do you think I would be here volunteering as much as I am?"

Gonzales dropped a hand on his partner's shoulder. "Jerry, take it easy."

Having reached Donato's desk, the attorney dropped his briefcase on it, then flicked open the locks to hand the stunned detective a file. "I believe you'll find all the evidence you need in here. I shall return to my office to await your rather predictably boisterous arrival. My colleague shall be prepared for you, a veritable lamb to the slaughter. He's tarrying in my office as we speak, as a matter of fact." He closed and locked the satchel, then spun on his heel. "Never let it be said that justice is not my paramount concern. If you have any questions, you know where to reach me. Good Day, Gentlemen, Lady." With a half-bow, he was out the door and gone.

Donato began turning the pages over. "It's as he said, all the documentation is here. If our witness happened to see Toloso meet with Evans, then it's a done deal." He passed the photograph to his partner.

"Jerry, you didn't get much sleep last night, did you?" Gonzales rested his hand on his friend's shoulder. "Why don't you call it a day?" He smiled over at the chestnut-haired woman. "You, too, Doctor Miller."

She had been propped against the desk. "I think so. That would be good."

Donato grasped the professor's fingers lightly. "Sandra, let me buy you some lunch, hum?"

She gave him a full lop-sided grin. "That would be good, too. But, after we make a stop by the office to pick up Jeannette's keys to Doctor Williams' house. She usually feeds their cat when they're away, but with her sick little girl, she can't take in another boarder. I can, and that dear little animal shouldn't have to suffer because she's lost both her people."

Jerry tightened his grip on her hand. "Will do, Professor. But you'll have to clear it with the Inquisitor, you know."

"Who shall not be amused." Sandra chuckled.

As the pair left, oblivious to the watchful eyes at the surrounding desks, Sandra saw Johnson step up to engage Gonzales in some deep discussion. But, with the murder of Tom Wilton finally solved, there were other matters that would engage her full attention. She glanced down at the thick-chested detective, who was beaming as he held her hand. "We need to talk, Jerry."

"That we do." He held the outer door for her.

-o-0-o-

Exomitis Cape  
Santorini, Greece  
Wednesday, May 27, 1998  
3:23 pm

Mulder pressed down on the bevel beside the nine. "What do you see?"

"What do you mean?" The voice was Byers' as he entered, not either of the persons for whom he had intended the message.

"Who's looking at what?" Langly called from the doorway behind the bearded man.

Mulder spun. "Scully and Frohike are investigating those two shafts." He pointed. "They've been in there for - "

"What?" The blond hair waved. "All of two minutes?" He stepped over to pat Mulder's shoulder. "G-man, you gotta learn to chill. Instant results only happen on the tube."

All three turned as they heard stones peppering the beaten dirt. Frohike's boots emerged from the right shaft, followed by the rest of him. "Dead-end." He brushed himself off.

"Mulder?" Scully's voice crackled from the agent's wrist.

"Yeah, Scully, what's happening with you? Frohike's side didn't go anywhere."

All four paled at the sound of falling earth.

"Scully!" Mulder shouted.

"I'm okay!" Her voice was muffled. Then, she continued, slightly more loudly. "The soil is much looser this far in. Hang on, I see a light. Let me do some digging." The men listened through several thumps and grunts.

"Scully!" Mulder was kept from crawling head-first into the shaft only because Frohike was blocking the way.

"Agent Scully?" Byers struggled to keep his tone level.

"I'm into a chamber. Langly, too bad you couldn't Dick Tracy a video feed onto these wristbands. You should see all of this! There's whole pottery and completed statuettes here. Wait." They heard clunks and scratching. "These are more fakes. No indentations in the figurines."

"Scully!" Mulder had pressed the little man hard against the opening to shout past him. "You saw a light? Where?" The vibrations pulled loose a cascade of rocks and dirt.

"Mulder! Stop!"

He propped himself against the back wall to begin speaking into his wrist again. "Talk to me, Scully."

"I had to push the back wall of the tunnel free. This is definitely a workshop. It looks like they've been preparing fake artifacts to insert in the dirt out there. Can one of you bring me a camera? I'd like to record this for Petras as evidence."

"Okay, Scully, I'm on it." Mulder spun to face the three men. "What do you guys have?"

Langly trotted out of the cave without comment. When he returned, he was carrying another black hard-sided case. "I could probably fit in there."

Mulder shook his head. "This isn't your job, guys. This is mine."

Byers activated his unit. "Agent Scully?"

"Yes?"

"Do you think Agent Mulder would fit in there?"

"No! Definitely not! The shaft opening looks like he could fit, but all bets are off once you get into the loose stuff. Petras is about Stone's size, which is probably what kept him from getting back here to see this for the fraud that it is. Don't let Mulder in here, guys."

The dark-haired agent was actively shoving on Frohike while he talked. "No way, Scully, *I'm* your partner. Besides, I'm smaller than either Jarred or Petras. I'll fit."

"Mul-derrr. Don't *argue* on this one. I might not be able to pull you free if you get wedged in about halfway down. I'm an expert at crawling through tunnels now, okay?"

Frohike pushed him back. "G-man, she means as much to you as she does to all of us. Let me."

The agent shook his head. "Scully's in there." He turned to Langly. "Well?"

With a sigh, the longhaired Gunman held out a grey box with a tiny lens on one end. "Okay, let me just get you set up." He rotated the BNC connector until it clicked in place. "In a minute, we'll have you on your way."

Mulder was reduced to blinking in frustration as Byers looped the cable over his arm, then set the camera in a mesh cap that was fastened onto the Agent's head. "What's happened to the gizmo we used in Arizona?"

Frohike sighed. "You broke it when D'Amato's place collapsed on you. This may be clunky, but it'll survive being bashed around in a tunnel." He gripped the agent's arms. "Mulder, I can *do* this. You are a big guy."

"No!" The dark-haired man drew himself up to his straightest. "Scully." He looked over at Langly. "You guys ready?"

The blond Gunman snapped the other end of the cable to the flat-screen monitor in the black case. "Hang on and we'll have this all on videotape. You can't bring out evidence based just on what you see." After sliding a cassette in the recorder built into the briefcase, he nodded. "That should do it."

After Byers handed Mulder Frohike's discarded flashlight, the agent slithered into the hole. "You getting all this?"

Frohike was pacing nervously. "Yeah." He activated the bevel by the nine. "Just start crawling, Mulder."

"Mulder?" Scully's voice sounded from all their wrists. "Guys, you're not really letting him in here, are you?"

Byers sighed into his unit. "I'm afraid so, Agent Scully."

"But, it isn't stable for someone as big as he is!"

"Too late." Frohike was glum.

"Oh, Mulder. What do you think you're doing now?"

The agent smirked at his partner's tone, something between amusement and resignation. They were definitely back on track. "You still seeing everything, guys?"

"Yeah, G-man, we are." It was Langly who responded. "We can see all kinds of dirt."

"Now you're really trying to muscle me out of a job." The dark-haired man flicked on his light. A shower of soil slumped out of the wall where his elbow had hit it.

"Mulder! Hang on, I can see you." She was crouched at the far wall, waving her lamp.

The tall agent held up his hand. "Watch it, Doctor, you're blinding me."

"Sorry." The beam dropped to the floor of the tunnel. "You're almost to where the loose stuff begins."

He wiggled his shoulders experimentally. "Yeah, and it's narrower here, as well. You're right, Scully. Petras wouldn't have fitted in here." He poked a finger into the side wall of the tunnel. "I see what you mean about the artifacts, too. The fragments are just tossed around. If this were a cache of valuables, like the Dead Sea Scrolls, you would have seen better preservation, no matter how rushed the owners were for time. If we were talking a trash heap, there would be more than just pottery here. You'd find animal bones. If we were talking a place buried suddenly, you'd see pots all in rows." He worked loose a fragment of a base to sniff it. "And we'd expect the containers to hold something, grain or spices." He dropped the shard to keep on crawling. "With the Androkiris doing all the digging, they'd probably pull these things out, then tell Petras or foreigners looking at the site some pretty lie or whatever they wanted to hear."

"Or both." She leaned in to the tunnel. "Mulder, when did you become an expert on excavation techniques?"

He chuckled. "Back when I was touring the Nile with a bunch of Israeli forensic archaeologists. Besides, I have a partner who is one. I have to keep up, now don't I?" He flinched at a suspicious rumble by his ear, then began crawling faster. "I don't like the sound of that."

He was close enough that he could see her silhouette clearly against the dim light at the far end. "This tunnel, Scully." He had abandoned the communication device to shout down the corridor to her while he pulled himself along by his hands. As his heart began racing, he chided himself with the admonition that she had handled far worse only a few months earlier.

"Mulder! Stop flailing! Concentrate on only moving forward or backward. The sides aren't that well-packed."

"C'mon, my technique isn't that bad, Doctor."

"What are you guys talking about?" The voice that emerged from Mulder's wrist belonged to Byers.

"You're a married man. You ought to know." The dark-haired agent hoped his wrist was far enough away his mutter would be lost. But more dirt was falling in his eyes, which only made him throw his elbows further out for a better grip of the loose surface.

"Mulder! Take it easy there, G-man." Frohike's voice sounded shrill from the small unit. "All we can see is dirt."

"Then your camera's working." Mulder chose not to respond further, but found himself wondering why shaking earth was such a recurring theme in his life.

"Hang on, Mulder, you're almost there!" Scully's voice sounded very close now.

But that was all he could detect, with the soil cascading nearly continuously. He no longer bothered with shouting; he just kept pushing the clumps out of his way. He gasped when something small and strong clamped onto his wrist. "Scully?" But the question only insured his mouth filled up with the dirt he was attempting to work his way through. He was horrified to find himself reduced to coughing helplessly. If he were to get out of this, he knew he was literally in the hands of his partner.

"Hang on, Mulder!" The words were muffled, but he distinctly felt the thump of one of her boots, where, in his last moment of clarity, he understood she was bracing herself to tug him free. Then, he was sliding, out of control, his head held up by the signal cable looped around his arm. The tunnel disappeared from beneath him, but in his present oxygen-deprived state, he could only collapse limply.

He blinked the soil away to glimpse two black circles staring up at him. "Scully?"

The floor beneath him wiggled. "If you were expecting it to be Sigorney Weaver, here to help you with your *technique*, think again, partner." She rolled him onto his back, unclipped the mesh headset, then began brushing dirt off his face with her fingers.

He shifted to huddle against her, coughing into her shoulder until he could shake the terror that had immobilized him. He chided himself that this was the worst possible moment to realize he had developed a confinement phobia.

Patting his spine patiently, she waited until he began breathing easily. "Mulder, you okay?"

With a nod, he sat up. Scully was still working on his hair, fluffing it to clear it of the last of the soil. He decided a few moments of pampering were entirely justified, at least until he could collect his thoughts.

"Mulder?"

He slipped an arm around her back. "I'm okay, Sigorney." He grinned as she blinked at him. He could almost see the Doctor in her trying to gauge the severity of his latest head injury. "Where's the camera, Scully?"

Relieved, she sat back on her ankles. "It was on the headpiece, but the cable must have worked loose when I was freeing you."

"Mulder?" Byers' shout startled them both. "What happened to you? We lost the video feed!"

The dark-haired agent allowed her to help him to his feet. After she handed him the headset, he chuckled, watching her climb up the pile of soil, pebbles, and pottery shards. "We'll get you guys hooked back up." He carried the camera to her as she blew more dirt out of the silver connector. "It's okay?"

She held out her hand for the camera. "Let's find out." Once they heard a click, he lifted his wrist to his lips. "You guys see that?"

"Yes." Langly sounded exceedingly happy. "Things are working again. How are you two?"

"Fine." Scully pointed the camera at her partner, then at herself.

"Stop scaring us, Divinity." Frohike's words were halfway between a scold and a tease. "Use that word again and we'll be renting bulldozers to get you out of there."

"Frohike." She growled audibly. "I'm panning around the interior." She fell silent until she had pointed the camera at all angles of the room. "You getting all this?"

"Sure are." Byers sounded relieved. "Audio and video tape."

"Sorry to bring this up, Doc, but how are you two planning on getting out of there?" Langly sounded hesitant.

"Not a problem." Mulder waited until his partner had turned the camera on him to point to a weathered door in the far corner of the chamber. "You see that back there? We're going to give it a shot."

"Not literally." Scully waggled the cable. "I'll give the interior another once-over, then set the camera up where you guys can record all this, okay?"

"Right." The bearded Gunman sighed. "Just don't take too long. If that door doesn't lead anywhere, you two will need to conserve your oxygen."

She propped the camera up on the back of one of the chairs in the space. "You have everything you need?"

"Yeah, sure, just get that door open." Frohike's response came a bit too quickly.

Mulder moved over to the opening, where he grasped the rope which appeared to serve as a handle. He gave it a stout yank, then grunted. "Must be an innie, not an outie." He waited until Scully had her SIG aimed in a firing stance, before he shoved.

The door barely budged.

"Something's blocking it." The auburn-haired pathologist exchanged her weapon for her flashlight. "Let me try." She wedged herself between her partner and the opening. "Okay, together." They both struggled with the door, until she managed to squeeze through.

"Scully?" Mulder was attempting to push his way into the blackness.

"Mulder! You should see this!"

"Scully? The door?"

"Oh, sorry."

He heard scraping as something heavy was dragged away, then he pushed on the slats again, only to have the hinges give way altogether. He blinked up at his partner, who was seated on the bottom step of a flight of stairs. "Hey."

She reached down for him. "Got away this time."

He gripped her hand firmly. "But not for good."

The diminutive agent waved at their surroundings. "Does any of this look familiar?"

Mulder took a moment to study the blocks of stone. He spoke to his wrist. "It looks like Akrotiri, Scully."

She nodded as she lifted her wrist to her chin. "I think we're both right here."

He bent over her shoulder. "Ooh, you mean this isn't Disneyland in the Med?"

She arched an auburn brow at his joke. "I *think*, that the Androkiris happened upon a ruin that had been looted in antiquity, then decided, why not put it to good use?"

Mulder straightened. "So, they added their fakes to the remnants of what the ancients had left behind, then began showing it off to a chosen few. They went so far as to open connections to America, which is what attracted Evans and his real estate consortium. Which then attracted our stiff."

She nodded. "Who thought I was part of the conduit for their illegal export. Which is why he attacked me."

"G-man! What's happening with you?" Langly sound completely frustrated with them.

"We're okay. Let us give you a run down on where we are." Scully began speaking as she walked around the space, describing the sand-colored blocks, the winding street.

Mulder just stood back to watch her, delighted that they had come this far, that they were ready to meet whatever challenges would be thrown at them together.

After several minutes of description, she was winding down. "That's about it, guys."

He walked over to her. "I suggest we look for the way out of here."

She pointed up the flight of stairs back where he had first seen her seated. "I think that's it, Mulder."

He peered into the semi-darkness. "Looks like a regular twentieth-century dead-bolt to me."

She tossed her head. "Good. We won't need Napier's constant to get through."

While tugging his picklocks out of his pocket, he trotted up the stairs. A few snicks, then he had the door unlatched. "Probably not." The wood slid away easily, to reveal the interior of a small home. "Ah, just like walking through the back of the wardrobe after all."

She had joined him. "So, that's what became of the lamppost." She waved her fingers at the bare bulb overhead.

He grinned. "No doubt."

The agents wandered around the whitewashed first floor, finally meeting up in the kitchen.

"Now, all we need to do is find a kiln, take some samples, and match them with the ones taken from the corpse. Then, we've pretty much wrapped this case up." The pathologist crossed her arms.

Mulder pointed out the back window. "You mean, like that?"

She smiled at the bee-hive shaped dome. "Exactly like that, Mulder."

He dropped a hand to her back. "Score one for the good guys, Scully." He held the rear door for her.

She was inspecting the interior of the kiln while he scouted the surroundings. "Mulder, come take a look at this."

He bent over her. "Ah, the blue and orange pots?"

"That's part of it. Back here." She indicated several scrapes in the rust on a vent pipe. "These look suspiciously like teeth marks. I think I can put together a scenario for our private detective's death."

He patted her shoulder. "So can I. He followed the Androkiris to their home, where they caught him spying at them. When he ran, he hit his head on that pipe as he struggled to escape. They brought him back here, probably to incinerate him."

"Then to bury his charred remains to be uncovered as part of the 'archaeological dig'."

"But he woke up, so they smothered him back there." Mulder grimaced. "A horrible way to go."

"Agreed." Scully pulled open the kiln door. "But, once he was dead, they realized he wouldn't fit whole in there. So, being out of ideas, they stripped him of his identity and threw him in the ocean."

"Which is where we came in." Mulder trotted to the fence along the back of the yard. "Looks like we came full circle in more ways than one." He pointed downward.

She joined him. "I think we have, Mulder." She pressed the bevel beside the nine. "Guys, one of you walk outside, okay?"

"Right." Langly sounded puzzled. When he stepped, blinking and scowling, into the sunlight, he stared at the land around him. "What am I supposed to see?"

"Look up behind you." The tall agent was smirking.

When the Gunman turned, he threw his hands up in the air. "Hey, guys, get out here!" Once Byers and Langly joined him, the trio below began waving to the partners above.

"Shall we?" Mulder held out his hand.

"Good." She rested her fingers on his supine palm. "I can get what I need to collect our evidence and we can be gone."

"Gone back to Atlantis, or gone back to the States?" He bent over her.

"Both." She offered a slight smile. "I'll always love it here in the sun. I want to come back for a real break someday, but right now, I'm ready to move on."

"Okay, Doctor." He dropped an arm around her shoulders.

She hugged him tightly around the waist. "Thanks for sticking with me through all this, Mulder."

He clutched her just as fiercely, savoring the moments while she leaned against him. "Anytime, Scully. Every time."

After they separated, the agents slithered down the hillside together.

-o-0-o-

Outside the Northern Precinct  
San Diego Police Department  
San Diego, California  
Wednesday, May 27, 1998  
11:03 am

From the deep seat of his limousine, Whittington watched Jerry and Sandra depart. "Ah. Was that a complication you had planned on?" He looked to the left, where a man sat in half-shadow.

"No, it wasn't." The attorney's companion lifted a white cylinder out of a cellophane-wrapped packet. "Toloso will protest that he was merely acting under your orders."

The lawyer spread his hands. "But all the evidence points to his acting alone. With that wretched private detective having unfortunately expired, there will be no one to testify otherwise, now will there?"

"Ah." A match was held to the tip of the cigarette.

"Must you smoke those infernal things? Don't you know they'll kill you?"

An grey brow arched as the orange ring at the end flared. "I've survived worse. But, surely you know that."

"I do. What's happening on the Washington end?"

The old spy rolled the window down an inch. "My young colleagues are working very, very hard on discovering just what connections, if any, James Andrews has to our compatriots in the Orient, which is all you need to know. You can deal with Elizabeth?"

"Of course. She might have an accident in prison, without ever coming to trial. She might develop Alzheimer's. She might even have a stroke. These things happen to older women, unfortunately."

"Ah. Good. I like a man who approaches these things from on high, rather than giving in to messy entanglements stemming from a, shall we say, lower source?"

"As always." Whittington gestured for the driver to proceed. "And Caroline's children? What are your plans for them?"

A hard glare.

The lawyer leaned over. "Now, just a minute ago, you told me it was best not to take direction from lower sources."

"That is *not* the purpose of my visit to you! Agent Mulder *shall* marshal his forces to pursue the eastern branches of the Association. Once they are exposed, and I have full confidence he and Agent Scully shall have success in their future endeavors - "

"Aided by you, no doubt."

"Only if the situation calls for it." The words were clipped.

"Yes, of course."

The old spy grimaced. "We will be the only group with any hope of leading the Organization. As it should be. We are working under a deadline, so it would be futile to waste our time with petty squabbles about titles."

"But Agent Scully is remaining with the Bureau?"

"She is. I have it on good authority."

Whittington let out a snort. "And this based purely on an intellectual union? After all they have been through - ."

"Ah." A puff. "But, for our purposes, that is the best course of all."

"What? Surely - "

A lone shake of the grey head. "Were Agent Mulder to attempt a *realignment*, it would, before the operations in the Orient could be exposed, lead to a termination of their partnership. Caroline's son, for all the stability he claims now to profess, is burdened with a past that would ruin any personal relationship. If he keeps his head, as Agent Scully will most certainly keep hers, they will proceed as I have predicted. Once they have served their purpose, then we shall see. That may be the best way to remove them from the playing field. Are we almost to your office?"

The lawyer nodded.

"Then, this is where I depart." He waited for the driver to pull to the side of the road, then shook hands with Whittington. "I look forward to our next meeting." He straightened his suit jacket, then left.

-o-0-o-

Somewhere over Europe  
Hellenic Airways Flight 2016  
Sunday, May 31, 1998  
11:43 pm

After a quick glance around the cabin at the other sleeping passengers, Fox Mulder shifted on his cushions, then sighed. The events of the past few days were keeping him awake, so he set about to review them, clearing his mind. He and Scully were on their way back to the States, in the First Class compartment, at his Mother's insistence, but at his stepfather's expense. The size of the seat mattered not to him, only that the flame-haired woman sleeping easily beside him was comfortable on the passage. There was much ahead of them, long hours and a different set of opponents, undertakings he knew she would not shirk. But, the last thing he wanted was for the immensity of the effort to cause her to burn out and fail. He knew that he would follow her into decline, all too easily.

He looked to his left, where she was curled up in her seat, her forehead barely clear of his shoulder, the backs of her fingers resting limply against his arm. He grinned softly, remembering that she had been reluctant to leave his mother, just as Caroline and Max had been loath to see either of them go so suddenly. When they had explained their need to return, the white-haired woman had nodded her understanding, but late that night, she had crept into his room to clutch him tightly in the darkness. They had said nothing to each other, but he had felt her tears on his shoulder. He clucked softly when fingers twitched against his arm.

"Mulder?" She was blinking sleepily at him.

"Not this time. Odysseus, son of Laertes, at your service, Ma'am."

She stretched both legs out in front of her. "Oh, that's too bad. My partner has a good heart and forgives me my flaws, even if he's not the most wily man of twists and turns."

Stunned at her unadorned praise, he found himself at a loss for a witty riposte.

"How are you feeling?" She tucked her hair behind her ear as she waited for a response.

He cocked an eyebrow at the question. "Good, actually."

She tucked her feet under her. "Oh? I'm sorry stopping by Athens Hospital meant you couldn't spend this morning with your Mom. I'm afraid I've monopolized entirely too much of your time on Santorini."

He emitted a rueful chuckle. "No, you didn't. Mom and I will see more of each other now that we know where Sam is."

She brushed her shoulder against his arm. "You'll be bringing her out to the Mediterranean, won't you? It isn't safe for them to come to the States, is it?"

Appreciating her clear-headed appraisal, he bent to look into her face. "That would probably be best. Max has enough pull with the Greek government to keep them safe here, and with the Smoker running things again, who knows what he has planned as far as Mom is concerned."

"But, she's built some safeguards in with what she knows."

He nodded. "That will only work as long as she's not a threat. If she becomes one, then no quantity of triggered revelations are sufficient." He leaned down, the tip his nose almost touching hers. "We put years of effort into exposing the Four, but the Organization has just regrouped."

Her fingertips swept lightly over his bare arm. "Then all we can do is see to the creation of a group strong enough to counter whatever they might think of, with the purpose to do in public what they think must be veiled in secrecy."

"Hum?" He grasped her fingers to press them flat against his arm. "So, you have no problem working with Matheson?"

She cocked her head. "You think that's what we should do, don't you?"

He nodded.

She smiled up at him, letting her delight spread across the length of her face. "I've come to agree with you on that. We know he's a master politician, Mulder, he wouldn't be where he is with the power he has if he weren't. But, if he can put planetary exploration, exobiology, astrophysics, and more SETI programs in the public eye, then any covert effort will be superseded. We can either retreat to stare inward, or look out and up. Think of how impossible it was to keep atomic knowledge secret."

"Either from our own media, or from our Cold War enemies."

"Do you think this would be any different?" She shifted again, moving slightly away from him. "Give scientists a chance to do their work, unfettered and in the public eye, and we'll be further ahead in fifty years than the Consortium ever dreamed possible."

Overjoyed at the gleam in her eyes, he leaned even further into her face. "Good to have you back, Doctor."

She tucked her chin for a moment. "Glad to be back, Mulder." She lapsed into silence again. "Mulder?"

He had settled back in his seat. "Hum?"

"The evidence from Benner suggested several new avenues of investigation I'd like to pursue."

He shifted to face her. "Oh? You want to drop by Old Smokey's and ask for a tissue sample?"

She cocked an eyebrow. "Nothing quite that dramatic. We have three cases we can pursue already."

He nodded. "Walter Skinner."

"For one, yes. The ability to insert genetic markers has to have come recently, possibly after he was assigned to be our AD. Either way, we should know. I'm certain he would want to get to the truth on this as well." She straightened on the wide cushions.

His hazel eyes sparkling, he leaned over her again. "You said three, Scully. Do I get to guess the other two?"

She closed her eyes momentarily. "If you want."

"William Mulder and Samantha Ann Mulder."

"Yes. Although I was thinking of another candidate."

He touched her wrist. "Ah. Fox William Mulder?"

She met his gaze. "I think that's an extreme possibility."

He nodded. "Yeah. We should look into my father's murder, Scully. I owe Sam a complete answer as to why her father is dead."

She sighed. "Mulder, I know that will be difficult for you."

He clutched her hand. "That's not important. We'll face it. And win."

Her fingers closed around his palm. "Yes, we will."

-o-Finis-o-

Anath

Just a few words to close. I haven't employed the services of beta readers prior to _Anath_, basically because these novels have become quite lengthy, and call for some dedication of what has become in anyone's busy life, far too much free time. But, this go-around I was fortunate to have two, David S. Raley, one of my few RL friends who has read my stories, and Florens de Wit, who posts somewhat regularly to ATXC. Both offered significant suggestions for improvements, and both prompted me regularly for updates. It was a privilege to work with these fine gentlemen. They prodded and suggested, but let me tell my own story. David, especially, being a Washington, DC area resident like myself, was peppered with phone calls about the finer technical points of creative writing, for which he dutifully provided excellent answers. We also worked ourselves into a fine fever about the blood type distribution of the populations in and around the Mediterranean region, among other arcane trivia. I should also add the obvious disclaimer that any difficulties you might have with the text are my responsibility alone. David and Florens were diligent in their efforts to keep me on the straight and narrow.

And so it begins... This was the transition story from the Dana Scully Trilogy to the Sandra Ann Miller Trilogy, and it presented several challenges for me as a storyteller. First, I wanted it to introduce you to Samantha as she exists in my universe. Now, I'm not Mister Carter, so this isn't the old myth-arc bait-and-switch flim-flam I'm pulling on my readers. The Samantha you have met here is the real deal, not some Consortium clone, nor an alien abductee, nor, well, you get the idea. To do this, I wanted to give you, my readers, a sense of her life before Fox Mulder crashes back into it. That meant probably the biggest hurdle I've faced yet as a writer: creating a completely original set of characters in their own universe. More on this later. Second, as I mentioned at the end of _Zurvan_, what happens inside the Consortium and the FBI, now that part of the Organization has been revealed, and now that everyone is working on something of a deadline vis-a-vis the shape-shifters? I made some efforts in suggesting new directions, but there is plenty of story to be told yet, so hang tight. Third, where do Mulder and Scully go with themselves, now that Samantha has been discovered, and the Consortium is on the run? Part of this story sets up the future for each of them, which will have its share of ups and downs.

One issue I didn't want to leave hanging any longer was that of Scully and the long-term physical effects of having a hysterectomy at a very young age. About 50% of the women who undergo premature menopause end up on HRT of some type, some with greater success than others. Premarin, the most widely-prescribed hormone medication for post-menopausal symptoms, is problematic at best, but replacement drugs are slow to come on the market. Many women have difficulties adjusting to it, as did Scully. It's best, as she did, to do research and find a doctor who will work with his or her patient to find the kindest treatment possible, since all women are different, and have different problems.

Back to the issue of the challenges in writing in one's own stand-alone universe. It was both simpler, yet more difficult, than I had imagined. There are no pre-set expectations to try to meet, other than that this is a piece of fan-fiction, so I couldn't veer off and write *just* about the adventures of Sandra, Jerry, Judy, and Seignior Salazar, et al., as much as I wanted to at times. I could make them whatever I wanted. But, they had to be whole in and of themselves. Fortunately, there has been much good advice to be had in this regard on the various mailing lists, not the least Loch Ness's kind posting, many months ago, of a character checklist. While I didn't fill out every last detail, I did have enough of the backgrounds of the main characters in California complete in my mind that one of my beta readers (Florens) remarked that he felt like he could walk down the streets of San Diego and meet them. At that point, I felt my job was done. I *also* set myself the challenge of writing two genuine, and intertwined, murder mysteries. Mulder and Scully are perfectly excellent investigators (at least in this little pocket of the X-F fan-dom), who relished the challenges I gave them. As did Sandra, who is, in every sense, Fox's little sister.

Now, a few references:

For the full story on the real Salazar, the best source is Gustav Henningsen's "The Witches' Advocate: Basque Witchcraft and the Spanish Inquisition (1609-1614)," published in 1980 by the University of Nevada Press. I recommend this book strongly to those of you who are convinced the UFO phenomenon is real. It's interesting, to say the least, to see all the same social and political behaviors in a completely different (and false) context. Sagan also discusses Salazar in "Science as a Candle in the Dark," should the Henningsen book prove difficult to find. The Truth is Out There, and it doesn't belong to Mister Carter.

The fluid dynamics texts Sandra and Jerry discuss are, as should surprise no one, quite real:

"An Introduction to Fluid Dynamics," by G. K. Batchelor, first published by the Cambridge University Press in 1967, and reprinted multiple times.

"Physical Fluid Dynamics," Second Edition 1988 (First Edition 1977), by D. J. Tritton, published by the Oxford University Press.

Having staggered through the first and found the second only as I was preparing for my oral boards, I can tell you, Tritton is by far the more comprehensible of the two.

As is the Whitaker Foundation, which, along with several others, has attempted to pick up the slack following the draconian cuts in Federal funding for Basic Research in the USA. My sincerest apologies for involving them in a capital offense.

For the story on Lise Meitner and Otto Hahn, try "Lise Meitner: A Life in Physics," by Ruth Lewin Sime, published in 1996 by the University of California Press.

The Thomas Cook Touring Handbooks, the Frommers, Cadogan, and Insight Pocket Guides to the Mediterranean and San Diego were of immense help in setting this story in places I've never been to, as was the Official Guide, both on paper and on the web, to San Diego, the University of California at San Diego and the Scripps Institute of Oceanography. A few words about the San Diego Police Department are in order, I think. The real department has a web-page, which I mined thoroughly for information on stations, procedures, etc. But, I felt free to invent details as I needed them, hoping, to be honest, to create a precinct office that was different enough from the real thing that anyone with nefarious intentions would come away with a completely wrong idea about the place and the peace officers who work there. There is no rank of Senior Detective, for instance, in the SDPD. I threw that in for my own insidious writing purposes. In other words, while there is a Northern Division of the SDPD, I doubt you will walk through swinging glass double doors to find Jerry Donato diligently pounding away on his typewriter while Richard Gonzales gets in a few games of Solitaire.

I took the details on Linear B Tablets from Simon Singh's 1999 Doubleday publication, "The Code Book: The Evolution of Secrecy from Mary Queen of Scots to Quantum Cryptography." A great read, all around.

Write if you have comments, please. I'm quite curious to see how these original characters come across.

=====o=========================================o=====

Begun: March 16, 1999

Finished: December 30, 1999

=====o=========================================o=====


End file.
